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Copyright, igoi, by 
Dodd, Mead & Co. 



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UNIVERSITY PRESS • JOHN WILSON 
AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

1. An Unaccountable Countess ... 3 

II. The Aloofness of Lucy 33 

III. My Niece, Mrs. Dove 63 

IV. An Unfinished Elopement .... 105 

V. Rumours 171 




J . . » i 


— .vf-- 


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UNCONSCIOUS 

COMEDIANS 


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‘‘ TV dear/’ said Mrs. Selwyn, impres- 

I V / 1 sively, don’t mention it to any- 
^ body, but Miranda’s engaged.” 

“ Is she ? ” cried Mrs. Selwyn’s old friend, 
wagging her red wig earnestly. Really ! 
It’s the Hon. Mr. Fitz-Arthur, of course.” 

Mrs. Selwyn admitted that it was the Hon. 
Mr. Fitz-Arthur, and had a great deal to tell 
about her anxiety in entrusting her only child’s 
happiness to an Englishman, to say nothing 
of her grief at the prospect of that child’s new 
home being situated so far from her own 
brownstone habitation. 

“ But he need not live in England, need he ? ” 
said Miss Smiley. Why can’t they settle 
here ? ” 

Mrs. Selwyn thought the Prince could 
hardly bear to lose such a favourite companion. 
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It seemed that Mr. Fitz-Arthur belonged to 
so prominent a family that the idea of one of 
them disappearing from English society for any 
lengthened period was not to be entertained 
for an instant. 

Miss Smiley was abashed. She had not at 
first understood the full glories of the match 
her friend’s daughter was making. She had 
known Miranda when that young lady’s par- 
ents were in the wholesale drug business, and 
it was hard to grasp the fact that she now asso- 
ciated with the high and mighty in her own 
country, and was about to “ contract an alli- 
ance” with one of the higher and mightier in 
another. She murmured that she supposed it 
would n’t do. 

‘‘No,” said Mrs. Selwyn. “I must lose 
her. She is making a splendid match. If she 
only keeps her health — but you know poor 
Selwyn had a wretched constitution. I often 
told him so. It ’s a wonder he lived as long 
as he did, but I declare, if he had known how 
persecuted I was going to be with lawyers and 
lawsuits about the property the moment the 
breath was out of his body, he ’d have made an 
effort to live longer. The way those relatives 
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of his have behaved to me — but there! I 
shall say no more. They will hear from me 
in court!*' 

Miss Smiley said she didn't doubt it — 
she knew her friend's intrepid spirit — and, 
Miranda entering the room at this moment, 
she rose to go, being somewhat in awe 
of the girl's bold black eyes and haughty 
manner. 

“ Don't be in a hurry," said Mrs. Selwyn, 
the goodness of whose heart was only equalled 
by the recklessness of her language. “ That 
fool of a butler of mine ought to be in with 
the tea. Ring the bell, Miranda. I got him 
from Mrs. Stone, with such a character, my 
dear ! But then, you never know. I 've 
missed two of my best tablecloths — he says 
they went to the wash ; I told him if they had 
they'd be back by this time. He was most 
impertinent, and wanted to know if I thought 
he had stolen them. ‘ When I think so,' s'aid 
I, M 'll say so — you go downstairs.' Did 
you ever know such goings on ? But I believe 
they all drink." 

“ Saunders is the best servant you ever had, 
mamma," said Miranda, firmly. You know 
5 


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he does n’t drink, and you may remember 
that the tablecloths were found. I do wish 
you would not get into such states about 
nothing.” 

Mrs. Selwyn turned as if to give battle to 
her daughter, — she had a majestic way of 
turning, not her head only, but the whole 
upper part of her person as she sat, — then, 
encountering an unmoved and stern expression 
on Miranda’s face, she thought better of it and 
turned back again to Miss Smiley. 

She both loved and feared Miranda, who 
had a calm temper and an iron will. 

Miss Smiley did not love Miranda at all, 
but she did fear her, and it was very timidly 
that she proffered her congratulations on the 
approaching marriage. 

So mamma has told you,” said Miranda, 
hardly taking the pains to conceal her annoy- 
ance. ‘Mt is not really to be announced until 
Monday. I hope you will say nothing about 
it. I suppose every one guesses it, but I pre- 
fer to make it known at my own time and in 
my own way. We are to be married in two 
weeks, if you care to know it. Very short 
engagement, you say? Oh, Mr. Fitz- Arthur 
6 


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and I came to an understanding some time 
ago, or he would not have come out here 
now.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Selwyn, pouring the tea, 
which the abused Saunders had brought in. 
“ Fitz-Arthur admired Miranda very much 
when we were in London, and his father, Lord 
Fenton — the Earl of Fenton, you know — 
had himself introduced to me at once. A 
fine-looking man. Such vitality for his years ! 
I wish poor Selwyn had had such a constitu- 
tion. There ’s nothing like health ! I never 
had a day's illness in my life, except when 
Miranda was born, and my mother was as 
strong as I am. I said to Fitz-Arthur, only 
the other day: ‘ Now I give you my daughter 
a perfect specimen of health ; but take care of 
her, for she inherits her father's constitution.' 
But, my dear, these young men ! What do 
they care for what an old woman says to 
them ? I don't suppose he will take care of 
her. Englishmen always ” 

But here Miranda interrupted. 

“ Suppose you send Miss Smiley home in 
the carriage if she has finished her tea,” she 
said. “ The horses have been stamping about 
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outside for an age, and you have still to dress 
if you are going to that musical at all this 
afternoon/* 

“ Have they been waiting long ? Dear me ! 
I don*t know how it is I always contrive to 
be so late for everything* You *11 go home in 
the carriage, Miss Smiley, while I get my 
bonnet on.** 

And Mrs. Selwyn swept from the room, 
while poor Miss Smiley, her feeble protests 
set aside by Miranda, was shut into the large 
brown chariot that waited at the door, and 
rattled off to her home, vainly searching in 
her pocket for money which she would not 
have spent on a cab, that she might bestow 
it upon her powerful friend*s overpowering 
servants. 

Miranda followed her mother upstairs. 

“ I had to get rid of her,** she said, be- 
cause I must talk to you a little before Alan 
comes, and he will be here presently. We 
can*t live in London for what you propose 
to give us, mamma. At least, we can*t live 
properly.** 

Mrs. Selwyn, who was standing before the 
glass tying the magenta velvet strings of her 
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most expensive bonnet, flushed a deep red 
and turned round angrily. 

‘‘ I think you are out of your senses, 
Miranda/* she exclaimed. If your father 
and I had had fifteen thousand a year to 
begin on — but, there, I am an old fool to 
expect gratitude from any one, even my own 
child ! Do you know what it costs me to 
keep up this house and the place in the coun- 
try ? Why, cheated as I am by all my trades- 
people and every one of the servants, and 
robbed right and left of the very property 
your poor father left me, it is a wonder I can 
give you as much as I do.’* 

“ You would not miss double the amount,** 
said Miranda, calmly ; “ and how can you 
bear to send me into society in England 
without the means of doing myself and you 
credit ? When you come over to see us 
you will be sorry that you were not more 
generous.** 

“ Well, of course, if I were going to make 
my home with you it would be different,** 
admitted Mrs. Selwyn, but to keep two or 
three places going here and there — really, 
Miranda, you are just as bad as all the rest of 
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them. You want me to give — give — give 
all the time.” 

How can you say so, mamma ? ” Miranda 
looked both haughty and offended. You 
really hurt my feelings very much. Have n't 
I been a pleasure and a pride to you always, 
and are n't you delighted with the match I 'm 
making? You know that you will make your 
home with me whenever you are in England, 
and I should think you would be glad to spend 
your money for the credit of papa's name.” 

“ It 's the Fitz-Arthur name that will get 
the credit of Selwyn's money. Don't talk to 
me, my dear. When it comes to what English 
pockets will swallow I could tell a tale ! What 
is Lord Penton going to give his son? Not 
the half of what I am giving my daughter ! ” 

“ That is not his fault, mamma. You know 
he is not rich — you knew it before. And 
Alan is a younger son. What could you 
expect ? ” 

“ I did n't expect to have my own flesh and 
blood turn against the mother who is ready to 
give her the clothes off her back ! ” cried Mrs. 
Selwyn, almost in tears. 

Miranda glanced at her parent’s dress, which. 


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though rich in material, was startling in pattern 
and not very tidy, and shuddered. 

“ You know you do not mean what you 
say,” she said. ‘‘ I am not turning against you, 
and you are not ready to give me the clothes 
off your back just yet, it seems — or, rather, 
enough money to provide many clothes for 
mine in the future. I suppose it is selfish in 
me to think of it, but I feel as if I should miss 
so much the things to which I have been ac- 
customed. There ! The carriage has come 
back. You ought to be going. I suppose I 
shall not be able to keep a carriage.” 

“ Yes, you will, Miranda,” cried Mrs. 
Selwyn, her kind heart wrung by the thought 
of her handsome daughter trudging along the 
streets of London, while high, proud ladies 
rolled by in their barouches. You shall have 
a carriage that will match the best owned by 
any duchess among them. There! I must 
spare you another ten thousand a year for the 
present, I suppose. I 'll have to stop a couple 
of lawsuits, though, to do it. And your hus- 
band will have something, and that ought to 
do to begin with. By-and-by I 'll be dead, 
and you'll have it all.” 

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Don’t talk of that, mamma,” and Miranda 
kissed her mother affectionately. “You will 
live a long time and come to see me every 
year. Alan will insist upon it.” 

Then Mrs. Selwyn went to her musical, and 
Miranda went downstairs to receive Mr. Fitz- 
Arthur. 

The engagement was announced in a few 
days, and everybody appeared immensely 
pleased. 

Mrs. Selwyn delighted in pointing out her 
handsome son-in-law-to-be to those who did 
not know him, and in recalling again and 
again to the memories of those who did, how 
old and distinguished was his family, and how 
intimate he had always been with the “ dear 
Prince.” 

The Hon. Mr. Fitz- Arthur said his mother- 
in-law was a dear old woman, and had lots of 
character. 

Miranda’s eyes seemed blacker and her 
manner haughtier than ever. She was rather 
thankful that, of all her future relations, only 
a brother and sister of Alan’s came over for 
the wedding, but she was careful not to say so, 
and Mrs. Selwyn took them into her home 


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and her heart, and made them welcome to the 
best that she had. 

Saunders became so exalted after Lord Times 
had alluded to him as a “ deuced good butler,” 
that he might have stolen the tablecloths every 
week and never been called to account. 

Finally the wedding took place, the bride 
and groom sailed for England, and Lord Times 
and his sister reluctantly departed to make a 
tour through the States. They had really 
grown very fond of Mrs. Selwyn during their 
visit, and tried to persuade her to accompany 
them, but she said she must rest and recover 
after all the excitement, and so they went, and 
she was left alone. 

She did not mind it so much at first. All 
the servants had to be dismissed and new ones 
procured, whose vices it took a week or two to 
discover. 

She gave one dance and two musicals and a 
great many dinners, went to the Opera three 
times a week, and otherwise entertained herself 
and society at large during the Winter. 

She did not go to London in the Spring, 
though she declared that Miranda had warmly 
pressed her to do so. She went to the country 
13 


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instead, and made Miss Smiley come and pay 
her a long visit. Miss Smiley loved visiting, 
and cocked her red wig more jauntily than ever 
when she received the invitation. 

But though Mrs. Selwyn kept a brave front 
to the world she was really very lonely. Peo- 
ple came and stayed with her, but she said they 
only used her house for a hotel, and she saw 
very little of them. She was very fond of and 
very good to all the young girls of her acquaint- 
ance, but she missed her daughter. Miranda 
did n’t write very often, and when she did write 
it was generally because she wanted something. 
And as time went on she wanted more and 
more, but she never appeared to want her 
mother. 

At the end of a year a boy was born to the 
Fitz-Arthurs, and Mrs. Selwyn, very proud of 
being a grandmother, decided upon going to 
England to see Miranda. Those visits of hers 
that Alan was to have insisted upon had not 
even been suggested, and that home that she 
was to make with her daughter had melted in 
air, but she never doubted her welcome. It 
was, consequently, a great blow to her on her 
arrival in London to feel her own exuberant 


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warmth of manner chilled by Miranda's cold- 
ness and to find that she was expected to take 
herself and her belongings to a hotel and not 
to her daughter's house. 

Miranda drove her to the hotel in that car- 
riage that was to equal the duchess's best, and 
left her for the night, promising, however, to 
return early the next day. 

Poor Mrs. Selwyn ! She had expected to 
be met with open arms and to be taken to the 
house that she had given her daughter, to be 
welcomed by her son-in-law, to be allowed to 
see her grandson at once — and here she was 
sitting down to a lonely dinner in a half-empty 
hotel dining-room ! No wonder that she could 
not eat, that she found she had a very bad 
headache and that she scolded her maid vio- 
lently when that much-abused young woman 
dragged a hairpin too roughly from its place 
while taking off her hair for the night. 

Things were a little better the next day. 
Miranda came to fetch her mother and the 
two ladies lunched together in Mrs. Fitz- 
Arthur's pretty dining-room, and Mrs. Selwyn 
was taken all over the house and told of all the 
things that were still lacking in its comfort, and 

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finally introduced to the baby and encouraged 
to make him a handsome present. The Hon. 
Mr. Fitz-Arthur did not appear. 

“ I suppose he ’s off somewhere with the 
Prince,” said Mrs. Selwyn, hopefully. No ? 
Well, I hope he means to pay his respects to 
me very soon. I Ve done a great deal for him 
and for his family, as you know. I hope he 
does n't mean to hold aloof from me.” 

“ Now, mamma,” interposed Miranda, 
‘‘ please don't be ridiculous. Alan has gone 
to see his father. Lord Penton goes to Paris 
to-morrow.” 

‘‘ Paris, indeed ! These old men, my dear ! 
Don't tell me ! Monte Carlo, too, no doubt, 
running after women and losing his money. I 
know how men behave, my dear. The older 
they are the worse they are. I could tell you 
something about them ! ” 

Not about Lord Penton, mamma. He is 
the most quiet, stay-at-home man in the world. 
He is only going away for his health.” 

“ For his health ! Why, a more vigorous- 
looking old man I never saw. What has he 
been doing with himself since then ^ Health, 
indeed ! I don't believe a word of it.” 

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He had the influenza very badly a short 
time ago, and it left him rather seedy ; before 
that he was awfully fit.” 

’m sorry he’s going,” said Mrs. Selwyn. 
‘‘ I rather wanted to consult him about a mine 
I think he owns some shares in.” 

“ I don’t think he could advise you, 
mamma. He never talks business with 
women. At any rate, I am afraid you will 
hardly see him before he goes.” 

“ Are n’t you going to see him — your own 
father-in-law ? I might go with you. It is n’t 
as if his wife were alive.” 

‘‘ I think it would hardly do, mamma, to 
force yourself upon Lord Fenton’s privacy 
simply because you want advice about invest- 
ments,” said Miranda, coldly. 

She was not very anxious to throw her 
mother into the society of Lord Fenton and his 
family until some of that lady’s most startling 
eccentricities of dress and manner had been 
slightly toned down. She was rather afraid 
of her father-in-law, who, she felt, was fully 
alive to her own weaknesses. 

“ Force myself on any one is what I never 
did and never shall do, Miranda,” cried Mrs. 

2 17 


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Selwyn, greatly incensed. If you ’ll be kind 
enough to order the carriage, or send that im- 
pudent young grinning jackanapes of a foot- 
man of yours to get a cab for me, I ’ll go back 
to the hotel. I ’m quite upset by the way 
you ’ve talked to me.” 

Miranda hastened to apologise, but Mrs. 
Selwyn insisted upon departure, leaving her 
daughter in some anxiety as to whether she 
had not jeopardised the arrival of a grand 
piano, a new carpet, curtains, and a sofa for 
the drawing-room, to say nothing of the baby’s 
present, by her ill-advised attempts to keep 
her mother’s kindly vulgarities from her father- 
in-law’s aristocratic eyes. 

Mrs. Selwyn went back to the hotel in 
great anger. Here was her own child as good 
as saying outright that she did not want her 
mother to intrude upon the family into which 
that mother’s money had enabled her to marry. 

If she ’s ashamed of me,” said Mrs. 
Selwyn, wiping her eyes, “ I ’m ashamed of 
her.” But she was a forgiving old lady, and 
when a note came from Miranda asking her 
to go to the Opera the next evening, she put on 
her most gorgeous old white brocade covered 

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with roses as big as cabbages, and went. She 
also had on all her jewelry — emeralds, 
diamonds, and turquoises in the utmost 
splendour and confusion. 

Dear mamma,” cried Miranda (the piano 
had arrived that afternoon, and the man had 
come to measure the curtains), “ how grand 
you are ! Only you have on a great many 
colours, and this is not the first time that you 
have worn that dress. Your maid really 
ought to have put in new sleeves.” 

Mrs. Selwyn could have pointed out half 
a dozen duchesses snuffier than herself, but 
she hoped, perhaps, that Miranda was taking 
an interest in her, so, though she felt some- 
what mortified, she was not angry, and only 
said : — 

“ I wish you would come and scold the lazy 
little hussy. She does n't care any more what 
I say to her. Maids really are the most 
thievish, immoral, good-for-nothing set. I 
can tell you a story ” 

But here Mr. Fitz-Arthur came in, and 
Mrs. Selwyn’s confidences went no farther. 

He was polite but rather indifferent as a 
son-in-law, and after he had shaken hands 

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he seated himself in the back of the box and 
made it quite evident that he did n't mean to 
talk. 

A great many distinguished people were in 
the house that night, and not a few of them 
came to Mrs. Fitz-Arthur's box, for she was 
handsome and clever, and very much the 
fashion. Mrs. Selwyn heard scraps of their 
conversation. It appeared that the Prince 
was going to dine at her daughter's house the 
following week. Now Mrs. Selwyn longed 
to meet the Prince. 

All the next week she hoped against hope 
that her daughter would ask her to meet him. 
She knew, of course, that a list of the guests 
had to be submitted to His Royal Highness, 
but when she was convinced that her name 
was not among them, she saw no reason why 
she should not be included in those few who 
were invited to the small musical which fol- 
lowed the dinner. At last she broached the 
subject to Miranda. 

“You would hardly enjoy it, mamma. 
There will be very few older people. I am 
asking only the Prince's set, and not many 
of them." 


20 


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‘‘Well, I can’t see that it would hurt them 
to have your mother present. I don’t expect 
to come to the dinner now, but I really think 
it will look very odd if you don’t have your 
own mother at the musical,” cried Mrs. 
Selwyn. 

“ Half of the people don’t know that I 
have a mother and the other half have for- 
gotten it,” said Miranda. “ Indeed, you 
would n’t enjoy it. They won’t be polite to 
you — but come, of course, if you like.” 

“ I went to a lot of the best people when 
we were here before,” exclaimed Mrs. Selwyn, 
angrily. 

“ And so did I,” returned Miranda, “ but 
we went as outsiders. Now I am one of them 
and you are not. I know how they feel about 
outsiders. But, as I said before, come if you 
like.” 

Mrs. Selwyn’s anxiety to be in the same 
room with the Prince almost induced her to 
avail herself of this grudging permission, but 
when Miranda added, “ Only don’t blame me 
if you find yourself uncomfortable and out of 
place,” her resentment became too strong to 
be subdued, and she exclaimed passionately : 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


‘‘You need n’t be afraid. I would n’t come 
now if you asked me on your bended knees ; 
and that ’s the way you ’ll have to ask me for 
anything you and Fitz-Arthur want in the 
future. Good-bye, Miranda ; if you ever 
have a daughter, I hope she ’ll be better to 
you than you have been to me.” 

And she walked out of the room and shut 
the door. 

The next day she had her trunks packed 
and departed, shaking the dust of London 
from her feet. She did not care to return to 
America after so short a stay, for she felt that 
people would divine how poor a welcome she 
had received. She went to Paris instead, and 
finding herself rather bored there, transferred 
herself and her maid and her trunks to the 
Reservoir Hotel at Versailles. 

She possessed what is known as a “pres- 
ence ” and carried herself with so much 
majesty that all the other inhabitants of the 
hotel took her for a dowager English duchess 
at least, which soothed her ruffled feelings and 
made her resolve to stay several days longer 
than she had at first intended. 

One morning, as she was returning from a 
22 


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visit to the Trianon, she was accosted, as she 
crossed the entrance hall, by the manager, 
who begged, with many smiles and courteous 
gestures, that the so amiable English duchess 
would tell him if she knew anything in her 
own land of a very excellent Milor Penton, 
who had arrived at the hotel late the preceding 
night and had suddenly been taken alarmingly 
ill. 

Mrs. Selwyn, in intrepid French, inquired 
the number of the English miloPs room, and 
was mounting the stairs to it before the man- 
ager could recover from his astonishment. 
He was comforted, however. Evidently the 
English duchess, who chose to call herself 
simply Madame, did know the English 
milor. 

Mrs. Selwyn knocked at the door of the 
room, and it was opened by Lord Penton’s 
valet. The poor man was frightened to death 
about his master, who was, in truth, quite out 
of his head and raving in the first stages of 
pneumonia. Mrs. Selwyn began to bully at 
once. Had he sent for a doctor and nurse 
from Paris ? Of course not ! She might 
have known it. Here, go downstairs and ask 

23 


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the manager who was the most distinguished 
doctor in France, and send for him at once. 
She would write a message to the manager. 
Perhaps, while they waited for the hest^ there 
might be some sort of a doctor in Versailles. 

In a few minutes she had established a sort 
of bustling supremacy over the affairs of both 
the master and the man. 

She was an excellent sick-nurse, and she 
meant to nurse Lord Penton, whether it was 
strictly her business or not. The dangerous 
condition of the poor old gentleman and the 
helplessness of his servant touched her kind 
heart, and there was nothing she did not do 
for them. A doctor came and a nurse was 
sent for, but until that nurse arrived Mrs. 
Selwyn sat up night and day. She never was 
tired. She always knew what was to be done, 
and she never scrupled to tell other people 
what to do. 

When, after weeks of anxiety, the doctor 
pronounced the patient a little better, he openly 
avowed that it was as much owing to Mrs. 
Selwyn’s care as to his own skill. 

When Lord Penton was first taken ill Mrs. 
Selwyn had telegraphed to his eldest son to 
24 


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come to him, but the telegram had never 
reached Lord Times, who was off on a cruise 
with a friend ; and when Lord Fenton’s reason 
returned to him he declared himself quite satis- 
fied to remain in such very excellent hands, and 
begged her not to send for his daughters. He 
was not a rich man, and their joining him 
would have added not a little to his expenses, 
but this he naturally kept to himself. 

Mrs. Selwyn amused him very much ; her 
kind heart and her eccentricities, her good 
actions and her violent modes of expression 
were most stimulating to his interest. 

When he got well enough to lie on the sofa 
in his room she used to come and sit in the 
window beside him and give him the benefit of 
her judgment upon the world at large and Ver- 
sailles in particular. The pictures in the great 
galleries were such as would have pleased the 
taste of the late Mr. Selwyn, she was sure. 
She herself only felt that most of the ladies 
were no better than they should be. ‘‘Talk 
of immorality, my dear,” she would say, hands 
and eyes raised to heaven in protest, “ when it 
comes to exhibiting the pictures of the creatures 
and their apartments ! And the amount of 

25 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


money it costs you to see them, too ! A fee 
here for the gallery, and another there for the 
ball-room, and something for the man who 
shows you Marie Antoinette’s apartments — 
that ’s a very curious corner where the looking- 
glass reflects you without your head — a franc 
to go down the secret staircase, and another to 
walk round Mme. de Maintenon’s bed ! And 
those Trianons, and the stable with state 
coaches, and the park, and the fountains ! I 
declare I ’m nearly ruined ! and I always get 
everywhere so late that I hardly have the bene- 
fit of my money before they shut the place up. 
But I ’m glad I Ve seen it. Selwyn always 
said that travelling and sight-seeing are very 
broadening to the mind. Poor Selwyn ! I 
could never have pulled him through such an 
illness as you have had.” 

If kindness and good nursing could have 
done it you would certainly have managed it, 
my dear lady,” said Lord Penton, gallantly. 

But look at your constitution ; that ’s what 
saved you, and that ’s what Selwyn never 
had. Sometimes I ’m afraid that Miranda 
takes after him. I warned Fitz-Arthur when he 
married her to be very careful of her, but I 
26 


AN UNACCOUNTABLE COUNTESS 


did n’t think she looked at all well in London. 
She did n’t behave just like herself, either.” 

“When were you in London ? ” asked Lord 
Penton. “ I did not know you were ex- 
pected.” 

“Well, I don’t know that I was expected,” 
returned Mrs. Selwyn, “ and, judging from my 
reception, I think I was n’t much wanted, 
either ; but I meant to see my grandson, and 
I came. Miranda ’s a good girl, of course, but 
sometimes she forgets what ’s due to her 
mother, and that ’s what Selwyn would never 
have permitted if he had been alive.” 

“ I trust,” said Lord Penton, gravely, “ that 
Alan has never been in any way lacking in 
consideration for you. It would be the height 
of ingratitude.” 

“ Oh, I ’ve no fault to find with either of 
them. They are just like all the young people 
of the day, I suppose, only I don’t understand 
them. They are swells, and I am not. As 
Miranda said, I ’m an ‘ outsider.’ That was 
when she didn’t want me to come to her 
musical to meet the Prince. Do you see 
anything in me that’s too ridiculous to meet 
the Prince, Lord Penton?” 

27 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


“ Indeed, I do not, Mrs. Selwyn,'* returned 
Lord Penton. “ I should consider him hon- 
oured, as I am, by your acquaintance. I can’t 
imagine what Miranda was thinking of.” 

‘‘ Well, I was angry enough at the time,” 
said Mrs. Selwyn, “ but I ’m not now. Though 
I do think that it was a pity that I had to 
miss such an opportunity. Of course, I would 
not go when she said that, and I remember 
being pretty outspoken about it, which is con- 
trary to my usual habit. I ’m afraid she ’s 
angry with me now, for I have had no answer 
to my last letter, and I sent her a check in it, 
too, just to show there was no ill-feeling. I 
may have a bad temper, but I can’t keep on 
being angry with my only child. She ’s all I 
have got in the world.” 

Mrs. Selwyn wiped her eyes stealthily and 
looked out of the window. 

Lord Penton sat upright on the sofa. 

“ I am an old man, Mrs. Selwyn,” he said, 
‘‘ and I have very little to offer you, but if you 
want someone to take care of you, someone 
who has a warm affection for you, you can’t 
do better than to take me.” 

‘‘Penton!” gasped Mrs. Selwyn; “you 
28 


AN UNACCOUNTABLE COUNTESS 


don't mean it ? Why, Miranda was so afraid 
you 'd be shocked by me that she did n't want 
us to meet again after she was married." 

“ Hang Miranda ! " cried Lord Fenton. 
“ Will you marry me ? " 

A few days after, the Hon. Mr. and Mrs. 
Fitz-Arthur arrived in breathless haste at 
Versailles in answer to a telegram. 

Mrs. Selwyn met her daughter at the door. 
‘‘ There are a great many things you may 
say to me, Miranda," she said guiltily, ‘‘ for 
when I am Lady Fenton, I sha'n't really be 
one of you, any more than I am now. But 
you can't -ever say then that I shall ‘ intrude on 
Lord Fenton's privacy,' and I must tell you 
that the Prince has written to congratulate him, 
and His Royal Highness hopes that we will 
join him at Homburg as soon as we are 
married." 


29 











THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 




1 


II 

THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


^HE wagonette, which had been sent 
I to the station to meet the guests, 

A had just deposited six of them, with 

their host, at the hall door. The cart con- 
taining their baggage was already lumbering 
up the avenue, followed by the station cab, 
which had been impressed into the service of 
Mrs. Dangerfield's maid and Mr. Grifforth's 
man. 

The cold air rushed in with the guests as 
they entered, and the warmth of the log fire 
and the glow of the lamps leaped out to meet 
them with a welcome no less hearty than that 
of their hostess. Feminine coats were un- 
fastened and veils were pushed up, while the 
masculine shells were being shed with the 
rapidity and carelessness usually exhibited by 
men on such occasions. Tea-cups rattled, 
tongues were unloosened, chatter and laughter 
broke out in little treble gusts, while over- 
3 33 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


head the tramp, tramp, of the servants’ feet 
as they carried the trunks about made a sort 
of bass-drum accompaniment. 

Mrs. Dangerfield wanted more than tea to 
warm her after her drive, she said, and little 
Miss Doll’s eyes grew as round as saucers 
when they beheld the tall, dark, Italian- 
looking goddess toss down a small glassful 
of fiery brandy quite as if it were not the first 
time she had taken it in public. Brandy out 
of a spoon, or accompanied by boiling water, 
and administered by one’s old nurse (Miss 
Doll’s parents had long been dead) as medi- 
cine for a heavy cold. Miss Doll knew and 
shuddered at, but brandy drunk needlessly and 
light-heartedly, out of a glass — well ! she did 
not think she should like Mrs. Dangerfield. 
Mrs. Dangerfield, on the contrary, felt that 
she could be enthusiastic about Miss Doll. 
“ Such a sweet little creature,” she told her 
hostess when the sweet little creature had crept 
upstairs, terrified by the appearance of a foot- 
man with a presented tray and a demand for 
trunk-keys. 

""Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Fenton, with a sud- 
denness that almost amounted to a snap. 


34 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


very sweet, and simple, and timid, and tire- 
some ; and what I *m to do with her for the 
next two days I don't know. She 's too good 
for this wicked world, let alone for this house- 
party." 

‘‘Why did you ask her?" inquired Miss 
Wilson, boldly, from the depths of a huge 
arm-chair. “ Was it to play with Marjorie? ” 
— (Marjorie was Mrs. Fenton's seventeen- 
year-old daughter, whom she kept in the 
school-room) — “ or to act as a guardian angel 
to Harry here? She's rather pretty in a faint, 
ineffectual way. Has she money ? Harry 
can't be guarded by an angel without 
money." 

Harry, whose last name was Lancet, sprang 
from the piano-stool where he had been sitting 
playing scraps of music-hall melodies, and 
made his way to the centre of the group round 
the fire. 

“ No, thank you ! " he cried, in his rather 
squeaky, high voice, “ no angels of that sort 
for me. She has n't a ray of good looks, and 
she dresses like — like bags! Mrs. Danger- 
field and Miss Wilson and I all agreed that 
we had never conceived of such an outer 
35 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


garment as that in which she encased herself 
when we got into the wagonette. It was 
neither more nor less than a duffle bed- 
gown.” 

‘‘ God bless my soul, sir, what do you 
mean ? She looked warm and comfortable, 
did n't she ? A devilish nice little girl ! ” 
cried Mr. Fenton, irritably, scorching the sole 
of each shoe alternately, as he stood, first on 
one foot and then on the other, with his back 
to the fire. He was considerably older than 
his wife, and often irritated with her and her 
guests. 

She 's Stanley's ward, you know,'' said 
Mrs. Fenton, in an explanatory manner. 
“ He likes me to have her down here occa- 
sionally. She 's a most exemplary young 
person, and never gives him any anxiety. 
She has a little money, not enough for Harry 
— but then she would never aspire to any- 
thing so expensive as Harry — and a whole- 
some awe of her guardian.'' 

She seems to be afraid of everyone,'' 
said Miss Wilson. She ran like a rabbit 
when Clarkson asked for her keys ; but she 
is pretty.'' 


36 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


‘‘Well, I can't see it/' cried Harry, shrilly. 
“ Do you, Ransome ? Do you, GrifForth ? " 

Ransome, a big, brown-bearded man, talk- 
ing to Mrs. Dangerfield, did not answer. 
GrifForth, who, owing to her preoccupation. 
Found himselF temporarily unoccupied, re- 
plied, in his quiet way, that the night had 
been too dark and her stay downstairs too 
brieF to allow oF his observing the young 
lady, but he preFerred to believe all women 
good-looking until they were proved to be 
otherwise. 

“ Bravo, Frank ! " cried Mrs. Fenton. 
“ You shall take her in to dinner.'’ 

But here Miss Wilson skilfully interposed. 

“ Oh, my dear Mary," she said, “ I must 
cut up his food For him ; his left hand is no 
good, and I promised faithfully to be a left 
hand to him when the doctor let him come 
here. You must send him in with me. These 
reckless riders are not to be trusted to the 
feeble fingers of young saints." 

“ Not when there are any old sinners about," 
muttered Harry, aside to his hostess, as 
GrifForth bowed his acknowledgments and 
concealed his embarrassment. “ I say, Mrs. 

37 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


Fenton, she’s getting bolder every day she 
gets older.” 

“ She ’s a handsome woman, and has no 
age. They say the men are crazy about her 
in London,” returned that lady. “You’d be 
so, too, if she ever did anything but laugh at 
you. Well who takes Miss Doll to dinner? 
I have it: Little Fred Middleton is coming 
down by the next train. He asked himself. 
He ’s just come back from Puerto Rico. 
We’ll make him do it. We’ll tell him she ’s 
an heiress. It will be an awfully good joke 
on him. She can’t talk a bit, and he will 
labour along like an overweighted steam-engine 
all through dinner. There ’s a native from 
the neighbourhood coming for you, Harry. 
An agreeable rattle — the kind you like.” 
And with a wave of her hand she dismissed 
him and carried off the women to their rooms 
to dress. 

Mrs. Fenton’s maid never waited upon any 
“ company ” whose fortune and position did 
not command respect in the servants’ hall. 
Mrs. Dangerfield had brought her own maid, 
not that her position did not induce every 
attention, but from motives of prudence. Miss 
38 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


Wilson had at once secured the assistance of 
the house-maid, and poor little Miss Doll, 
after ringing her bell vainly some half-dozen 
times, was finally obliged to make a sally into 
the hall in search of help. Fortunately, she 
caught sight of an apron whisking into Miss 
Wilson’s room, and, hurrying after it, she 
knocked gently at the door. Miss Wilson 
cried, “ Come in,” and Miss Doll’s small face 
peered anxiously through the opening, while 
she made known her wants. Could somebody 
come presently and hook her dress ? she 
wondered. 

And, oh, what a nice fire you have ! ” she 
added. “ Could I come in for a minute and 
get warm ? ” 

“ Of course,” said Miss Wilson. Have n’t 
you a fire in your room ?” 

No, Miss Doll had no fire, as her little pink 
nose testified. She was in her embroidered, 
crisply-flounced petticoats, and had a blue 
dressing-sack huddled about her shoulders. 
She had conscientiously and laboriously un- 
packed her trunk and put away everything, 
and she was tired and chilled. 

Is n’t there any heat at all in your room, 
39 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


child ? ” inquired Miss Wilson, looking down 
her fine Roman nose at the shivering little 
figure, and combing her long golden hair with 
vigorous sweeps, while the housemaid stood 
by, admiring her. 

‘^I don’t think so,” said Miss Doll, unless 
there ’s a register somewhere that has n’t been 
opened — I forgot to look. My room is very 
small. It looks to me like the dressing-room 
of some other room, you know, and there ’s so 
much furniture that there could n’t be a fire- 
place, but there might be a register. I ’ll go 
and see.” 

“ No,” exclaimed Miss Wilson ; “ let the 
woman go. You stay here and do your hair 
where it ’s warm.” 

But my hair is done,” objected Miss Doll, 
in distress. 

“ Oh, is it? ” said Miss Wilson, drily, look- 
ing at the diminutive hard knot at the back and 
the dismal little fringe which hung over Miss 
Doll’s forehead. “Suppose you let me have a 
try at it ; your hands were too cold to do your- 
self justice.” 

So saying, she tossed up her own yellow 
locks and set to work upon Miss Doll’s with 
40 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


such good effect that in a few minutes that 
young person had lost her hunted-rabbit look 
and become a fluffy-headed doll, indeed, with 
a face that beamed gratitude and admiration for 
her friend’s skill. 

And truly, when they descended the stairs 
together and found the men assembled. Miss 
Wilson almost expected a burst of surprised 
applause, so marvellous was the change she had 
worked ; but, apparently. Miss Doll, even at 
her best, was not admired by the stronger sex. 
Not a man appeared to notice her except little 
Fred Middleton, who gave quite a start when, 
a few minutes later, Mrs. Fenton named them 
to each other, and ordered him to take her in 
to dinner. 

To the perpetrators of the heiress joke, how- 
ever, his conduct during the meal caused the 
liveliest amusement ; such fluent conversation, 
such evident interest, such delicate attention as 
he appeared to devote to Miss Doll, surpassed 
their fondest expectations. The young lady 
herself also surprised them by her gaiety. She 
laughed often in her timid way, and even talked 
furtively when she thought no one was observ- 
ing her. 


41 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


She ventured a joke or two with her guardian, 
at whose left hand she sat, and had quite the 
air of enjoying herself. 

“ Edith Wilson has made such a change in 
that mouse’s appearance that she does n’t know 
herself, and is behaving quite like an ordinary 
woman,” exclaimed Mrs. Fenton. 

“ From Middleton’s behaviour I should say 
he had swallowed the heiress-bait whole,” 
answered Harry Lancet. “ How much did 
you tell him she was worth ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, I did n’t say how much. I was splen- 
didly vague, but is n’t it fun ? I declare she 
looks pretty, now that she has a colour; and 
that blue gown is n’t bad.” 

She ’ll fly directly up to heaven in it, utter- 
ing screams of dismay, if you let h^r see us gam- 
bling after dinner.” 

I hope she will fly to bed ; that will be 
nearer and less fatiguing. There ! talk to your 
native for a little ; between you and Fred 
Middleton she’s having a hard time,” and 
Mrs. Fenton turned away to bestow her some- 
what noisy attention upon Mr. Ransome. 

But after dinner it appeared that Miss Doll 
had no intention of going to bed early. She 
42 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


sat near Miss Wilson until the men came in, 
resisting all Mrs. Dangerfield's attempts to 
draw her into conversation, and stoutly declin- 
ing to admit that she was in the least tired or 
sleepy. 

When Miss Wilson proposed a game of 
billiards. Miss Doll came and looked on, asking 
little, gentle questions of her guardian, beside 
whom she stood, and taking his snubby replies 
with great meekness. After the young lady of 
the neighbourhood had gone, and the whole 
party had straggled back into the hall, Mrs. 
Fenton tried to dismiss her with a kiss and a 
brief ‘‘ Well, good-night, timid Lucy; go to 
bed and sleep well.’* 

But Miss Doll said simply, “ Oh, are you 
going to bed now, Mrs. Fenton?” and when 
Mrs. Fenton was obliged to admit that she was 
not, added quietly, “ Then I think I ’ll sit up 
a little longer, too.” 

‘‘ You ’ll be shocked to death. Miss Lucy,” 
cried Harry. “We are going to play cards 
for money.” 

“ But I need n’t play ; I may watch you,” 
she returned shyly — “ that is, if you don’t 
mind ? ” 


43 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


I mind/’ said Miss Wilson, seating herself 
at the table and beginning to shuffle the pack 
with wonderful dexterity. You might see me 
cheat.” 

‘^And / mind,” said Mrs. Dangerfield, put- 
ting an affectionate arm round the girl’s shoul- 
ders, because such innocent-looking little 
ladies ought not to countenance gambling.” 

Lucy moved gently but decidedly away from 
the affectionate arm. She still felt she could 
not like Mrs. Dangerfield. 

Stay if you like, my dear,” laughed Mrs. 
Fenton, but don’t tell your guardian how 
much I win or lose. He ’s gone to bed, like 
a sensible person, has n’t he, Harry ? ” 

“ No, he ’s reading in the library,” answered 
Frank Grifforth. I saw him just now as I 
passed the door.” 

“ Does he disapprove of cards ? ” asked 
Lucy, anxiously. “ Then perhaps I ’d better 
not stay.” 

Come and talk to me. Miss Doll,” said 
Fred Middleton, gallantly ; cards bore me to 
death.” 

They might be the lesser evil,” murmured 
Harry, exchanging a delighted glance with his 
44 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


hostess as the two walked away together. But 
the excitement of the game soon drew their at- 
tention from anything less interesting than the 
hands they held, the chips they staked, and the 
jack-pots they won or lost. 

Some two hours later, when Mrs. Danger- 
field rose yawning from the table, declaring 
that she had put up her last penny and could 
play no more. Miss Doll and her companion 
would have been as completely forgotten as 
last week's newspaper, if Mr. Lancet, in an 
eccentric gyration about the hall, had not 
happened to pause in front of the conservatory 
door. He stopped short, with such an ex- 
pression of amazement frozen on his counte- 
nance that Mrs. Fenton's attention was at- 
tracted at once. 

Well, Harry," she cried, with her favourite 
little screaming laugh, “ have they both gone 
to sleep ? " 

“ No," said Mr. Lancet, swiftly turning 
away, not to deceive you, they have not gone 
to sleep." 

‘^Are they still talking?" inquired Miss 
Wilson, as she swept her winnings off the 
table. 


45 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


No, not just now,” returned Mr. Lancet, 
with reserve. 

What are they doing ? ” asked Mrs. 
Dangerfield. 

“ I ’ll call them, and you can ask them, if 
you like,” said Mr. Lancet, agreeably. ‘‘ Come, 
Miss Lucy,” he continued, raising his voice, 
this respectable party is about to separate for 
the night, and, if you please, Mrs. Fenton is 
thinking of turning out the lights.” 

At this Miss Doll and Mr. Middleton ap- 
peared, blinking a little in the strong glare of 
the lamps, and appearing rather dazed by the 
laughing attention they excited. 

Is it very late ? ” faltered Miss Lucy, look- 
ing up at Mr. Grilforth, who happened to be 
nearest her. 

‘‘Not any later for you than for the rest of 
us,” he answered kindly, snapping the lid of 
his watch. “ It ’s a few minutes after one 
o’clock.” 

“Good gracious!” cried Miss Lucy, in 
terror. “I never dreamed it was so late as 
that.” 

“ You must have been very amusing, Mid- 
dleton,” remarked Harry Lancet. “ Now if 
46 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


Miss Lucy will bestow a little of her attention 
upon me to-morrow, I *11 try my best to show 
her that you aren’t the only man who can be 
agreeable for two hours at a stretch. Will you 
take a drive with me to-morrow, if Mrs. Fenton 
will trust me with a horse? Do, Miss Lucy; 
I *m ever so much more interesting than he is, 
though he has lately been through the perils of 
the Puerto Rican campaign.” 

Miss Doll hesitated, cast an appealing 
glance at Mr. Middleton, and stammered that 
she should be delighted. 

Mrs. Fenton, who was in the act of ascend- 
ing the stairs, stood stock still with astonish- 
ment. Mrs. Dangerfield and Miss Wilson 
looked at each other with raised eyebrows. 
Lucy, seeing that they were waiting for her, 
hastily bowed her good-nights and crept up- 
stairs in their train. 

“ What happened in the conservatory, 
Harry ? ” asked Frank Grifforth, as the two 
stood near the fireplace smoking. 

Oh, well, you know, it *s mean to play 
the spy,” rejoined Mr. Lancet, “but really, 
the little girl has a beautiful complexion and 
very sweet ways of her own, and Fred was 
47 


fcstKdSiat: 




UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

such an ass that he only kissed her twice — 
at least, only twice while I was looking — not 
that he saw me, either.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Frank GrifForth. “ Upon my 
word, I shouldn’t have believed it. Such a 
demure-looking little creature ! ” 

I see now why cards bore our young 
friend Middleton,” went on Harry. “ I 
thought a change had come o’er the spirit of 
his dream since we used to knock about to- 
gether. But was n’t he quick to read as he 
ran ? I declare, I had n’t a notion she was so 
pleasing.” 

The appearance of Miss Doll the next 
morning was marked with some curiosity by 
Mr. Grifforth. 

She did not come down till very late, and 
unless Miss Wilson or Mr. Middleton were 
near her — the only two persons with whom 
she seemed at ease — she appeared as shy 
and embarrassed as a strange child at a big 
party. 

Frank walked over the golf course with her, 
ostensibly playing caddy to Miss Wilson (Mrs. 
Dangerfield never exerted herself in outdoor 
games), but in reality trying to study Miss 
48 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


Doll. He was no wiser by the time the party 
went in to lunch, except that he had learned 
the names of her governesses and her favourite 
books, and the places to which she had trav- 
elled. Further questioning drew forth the 
admission that she loved dancing, was glad 
she was coming out that Winter and would 
dance a cotillion with him with pleasure. 
Did he really mean it? Mr. Grifforth was 
puzzled. 

“What under the sun is the matter with 
the men, Mary ? ’’ said Edith Wilson. “They 
have suddenly gone crazy about Lucy Doll. 
Fred Middleton talks to her till one o’clock 
last night ; Frank Grifforth has been with her 
all this morning, and Harry means to take her 
for a drive this afternoon. She is rather a 
pretty little thing, but very dull, and not at 
all smart. What has got into them ? ” 

“Well, I told Fred she was an heiress, but 
the other two knew it was only a joke. Frank 
never looked at her yesterday, and Harry 
did nothing but make fun of her. It must 
have been the way you did her hair last 
night.” 

“ I did n’t do it this morning. Look at it ! 

4 49 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


Did you ever see such a little sight as she is ? 
And look at them I ” returned Miss Wilson, 
pointing to where Lucy stood in the hall, 
talking to Mr. Fenton, while Harry threw in 
occasional absurdities. Frank GrifForth lis- 
tened, and little Fred Middleton hovered in 
the background. 

Mary,’’ said Mr. Fenton, as his wife and 
Miss Wilson joined the group, “ now, I want 
to ask you, are you going to take these ladies 
for a nice drive in the wagonette this after- 
noon? It’s a beautiful day and nobody 
ought to waste it indoors. I don’t know 
what you think, Mrs. Dangerfield,” he went 
on, addressing the back of that lady’s head, as 
she sat talking with Mr. Ransome in the win- 
dow, but I always say that what makes the 
English women so deuced handsome is the 
outdoor life they lead.” 

"" I quite agree with you, Mr. Fenton, and 
I ’m going for a long walk,” returned she, 
‘‘so that I shall be transcendently beautiful 
for the dance this evening.” 

Mrs. Dangerfield had no idea of rattling 
about the country in the wagonette when she 
could avoid it by a ready lie. 

50 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


“ Are you going to have dancing this even- 
ing, Mary?*" asked Mr. Fenton, with a 
scowl. 

“ I *m going to have some fiddlers to play 
after dinner,** she returned. “ You insisted 
on my entertaining the aborigines, and I 
thought it would be the easiest way. And 
now, if you want to drive anywhere this after- 
noon you *d better order the carriage, but I *m 
sure I don*t know who *11 go with you. I 
think the plans of the party are already made, 
especially Lucy*s,** she added, with her shrill 
little laugh. “ Look at her blush ! Harry, 
I did n*t know you were such a Romeo.** 

‘‘ What*s that? What *s that?** inquired 
Mr. Fenton, in his hasty way. “ Where *s 
Lucy going ? ** 

“ Only to drive with me, Mr. Fenton. No 
living guardian could object to that, I should 
think^,** said Harry Lancet. 

‘H don*t know about that, sir,** returned 
Mr. Fenton. “You can drink, and gamble, 
and smoke cigarettes, and dance attendance 
on married women, but I very much doubt 
if you can drive, sir. I think Miss Lucy had 
better come to the farm with me. I want to 
SI 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


have a look at the colts. Do you want to see 
them, GrifForth ? 

Mr. GrifForth said he did, and it presently 
appeared that Miss Wilson wanted to see the 
colts, too, and that Mr. Middleton sighed for 
a sight of the farm ; so the wagonette was 
ordered, and the women went upstairs to put 
on their hats and coats. 

‘‘ Where 's my lady ? ” asked Harry Lancet, 
sauntering out of the smoking-room as the 
sound of wheels died away down the avenue, 
and meeting his hostess in the hall. 

She begs you to excuse her, but she 
thought her guardian objected to her driving 
with you, and she has gone in the wagonette,” 
said Mrs. Fenton, smiling maliciously in his 
astonished face. “ You 'll have to drive with 
me instead.” 

Well ! By ! Jupiter ! ” said Mr. Lancet, 
in three distinct exclamations. “ The girl 
beats me. Look here, Mrs. Fenton, I 'm 
not going to put up with it, you know; 
Middleton can’t have it all his own way. Let 
me take her in to dinner to-night, will 
you ? ” 

‘‘ What under the sun has the girl done to 
52 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


you all? ” cried Mrs. Fenton. “You weren’t 
mad about her yesterday.” 

“ Ohj nothing, nothing,” stammered Mr. 
Lancet ; “ she is a new type, you know, 
and — well, she looked rather pretty last 
evening.” 

Miss Doll certainly did not look pretty 
when she returned from her drive. Her hair 
was blown about her little face in wisps, and she 
was pinched with the cold, having forgotten 
to take with her the formless garment which 
had excited Mr. Lancet’s derision. 

She came timidly to knock at Miss Wilson’s 
door at dressing time. Might she warm her- 
self again at the fire ? And, oh ! would Miss 
Wilson do her hair again as beautifully as she 
had done it last night ? 

Miss Wilson did it as beautifully, if not as 
amiably, and Miss Doll crept back to her own 
room. 

Harry Lancet took her in to dinner, which 
was a large one, owing to the entertaining of 
the aborigines, but though she talked and 
laughed naturally enough with him, and 
begged his forgiveness very prettily for desert- 
ing him in the afternoon, he could not flatter 
53 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


himself that he had advanced at all in her 
good graces. When Mrs. Fenton marshalled 
the women out of the dining-room, he was as 
puzzled as he had ever been in his life. 

“ I can’t make that little girl out,” he said 
to Grifforth, near whom he had pulled up his 
chair. 

“ I ’m going to dance the cotillion with 
her this evening,” said Frank, lighting his 
cigarette. 

At this moment they were joined by Ran- 
some, who had been upstairs to his room for 
a forgotten cigar-case. 

‘‘ I Ve just seen the most extraordinary 
thing 1 ” he exclaimed, joining them. “ When 
I passed through the hall just now — the 
women are in the drawing-room, you know — 
I saw that quiet little person. Miss Doll ” 

“ Yes ! yes ! ” cried the other two, eagerly, 
as he paused to light his cigar. 

“ — and Middleton, you know, standing 
together at the foot of the stairs. As I came 
toward them he was giving her a parcel wrapped 
in white paper, and I heard him say: ‘ I got 
them for you yesterday. They were in my 
valise, you know. I ’m so sorry I forgot to 
54 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


give them to you before dinner/ And she 
said : ‘ Never mind, I 'll go up and put them 
on now. I hope these will match my dress ; 
the others don't at all.' Just then they saw 
me, and she ran upstairs, and he sauntered off 
to the conservatory." 

‘‘Well," said Harry, “what's extraordinary 
about that ? " 

“ I went upstairs slowly," continued Ran- 
some, in his heavy way, “ and on the top step 
I saw something pink, lying in a little heap." 

“ Miss Doll in a fainting fit ? " suggested 
Harry. 

“ I picked it up,” went on Ransome, 
solemnly, quite ignoring the interruption. 
“ It was a pink silk stocking ! ” 

“Well, what of it?” said Frank GrifForth. 

“What of it?” echoed Ransome. 

“You don't think it odd that Middleton 
should supply Miss Doll with pink silk 
stockings ? ” 

“ How do you know it was hers ? " 

“ I met her coming back to look for it, with 
the mate in her hand.” 

“And what did you do?" cried Harry, 
chuckling. 


55 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


“ I gave it to her, of course, and I asked if 
I might take her to supper to-night/* 

‘‘ He *s a millionaire, Frank,** said Harry, 
feigning despair. There *s no chance for you 
and me.** 

Never had Miss Doll spent so pleasant an 
evening. She danced till the pink silk stock- 
ings should have been full of holes. Her 
partner, Mr. GrifForth, introduced every man 
he knew and several he did not know to her. 
Harry Lancet brought her favours with both 
hands. Mr. Ransome took her to supper, and 
Fred Middleton was never far from her side. 

Well, what do you think now ? ” said Miss 
Wilson, as she and her hostess stood yawn- 
ing near the fireplace as the last guest drove 
away. I declare I can*t understand it.** 

Mrs. Dangerfield, who was always sure of 
her own empire whenever she chose to exert 
herself, laughed knowingly and said that timid 
Lucy was a dear little thing, and she meant to 
see a great deal of her that Winter. 

What *s become of her now ? ** inquired 
Mrs. Fenton. 

“ Meaning me, Mrs. Fenton ** said Miss 
56 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


Doll's voice at her elbow. “ I Ve never had 
such a good time in all my life. I feel as if I 
never wanted to stop dancing. Has n't it been 
delightful ? " 

“ 1 'm glad you enjoyed it," returned her 
hostess, a trifle coldly, “ but I think we have 
done quite enough dancing for one nighs, and 
had better go to bed now, don't you ? *' 

Miss Doll acquiesced with a gentle smile, 
and with general good-nights the house-party 
dispersed. 

About a quarter of an hour later it occurred 
to Miss Wilson, who was really a good-natured 
woman, that she had dismissed the sleepy 
house-maid without sending her to unlace Miss 
Doll's dress ; so, slipping into her dressing- 
gown, she went softly down the hall to Lucy's 
room to offer any assistance that might be re- 
quired. She knocked softly at first, fearing 
Lucy might be asleep. Something moved with 
a squeak in the room, and a voice of suppressed 
annoyance said: I 'll get a feather and some 
oil, and oil that door to-morrow," to which 
Lucy's voice replied : Hush ! I think some- 
one knocked." 

Miss Wilson knocked louder, and after an 
57 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


appreciable pause, during which stealthy sounds 
died away, Lucy said, “ Come in.’* 

She was standing in the corner of the room, 
her cheeks flushed, her eyes downcast and her 
fingers nervously busy with some favours she 
was unpinning from her dress. 

“ I came to see if you wanted your dress 
unlaced,” said Edith. I quite forgot to send 
the maid to you.” 

‘‘ Oh, thank you,” said Miss Doll ; ‘‘ I Ve 
only got it half-undone — if you would be so 
good.” She moved forward as she spoke. A 
snap was heard ; part of Miss Doll’s lacer still 
dangled from her half-unfastened bodice as she 
turned her back to Edith. The other piece 
hung quivering from the crack of the door 
near which she had been standing, and that 
door led into the adjoining room. 

“Your lacer is broken,” said Miss Wilson, 
drily. 

“ I thought I heard something snap,” re- 
turned Miss Doll, and not another word was 
spoken until Edith turned to go. 

“ Who has the room on that side } ” she 
asked, pointing to the door where the pink 
lacer still swung. 

58 


THE ALOOFNESS OF LUCY 


“ Mr. Middleton, I believe,*’ said Miss 
Doll, without looking up. ‘‘ Good-night.” 

Mary ! ” cried Edith Wilson the next 
morning, meeting Mrs. Fenton hurrying from 
her room, “ I must tell you something about 
Miss Doll — ” 

“ Miss Doll, indeed ! ” fairly screamed Mrs. 
Fenton. ‘‘Read that!” and thrusting a note 
into her friend’s hand, she collapsed into the 
nearest chair. 

The note said : 

Dear Mrs. Fenton, — I don’t know how to tell 
my guardian — I’ve tried a great many times, but I 
am so afraid of him — will you tell him that Mr. 
Middleton and I are married ? I think Miss Wilson 
suspected it last evening, and so I thought I had better 
confide in you. We were married before he went 
with his regiment to Puerto Rico. I feared he might 
be wounded and want me to go to him, and I could 
not bear to think that I had no right to do so. 

We have both gone to town by the morning train, 
but if my guardian forgives me, we could come back 
this afternoon. Please telegraph. 

Yours affectionately, 

Lucy Middleton. 


59 


I 


( 

] 


I 


Ill 

MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 




' ?/jft ^:>A >* •<‘6.1 1 A i l/k> 


Ill 

MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


W HEN Amelia first proposed my go- 
ing abroad with her I made some 
faint resistance. I knew it would 
be ineffectual, but I felt it was due to my- 
self. 

I *m too old,” cried I. 

You are at the nicest middle age in the 
world,” said Amelia, patting my hand, and 
you are the sweetest and handsomest gray- 
haired lady in the land, and I do so love to 
be with you.” 

‘‘Too old, I mean, to enjoy flying about 
the Continent as you do, my dear,” I con- 
tinued hastily, knowing that my downfall was 
certain, but making a show of firmness. 

“ But you need n’t fly about, dear Aunty, 
not once. You know you will enjoy the voy- 
age because you are such a wonderfully good 
sailor, and you have never been by the 
Southern route. Then, when we get to the 

63 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


other side, you shall just settle down in some 
beautiful, quiet place, with the children to 
amuse you — they are such ducks ! — and 
I ’ll do the flying about by myself,” said 
Amelia, with an air of engaging virtue. 

It had occurred to me that 1 might be of 
some use to my niece beside the comfort she 
derived from the society of the “ handsomest 
gray-haired lady in the land.” Now every- 
thing was explained. 

“ So the children are to go ! ” I said. 

‘‘Yes,” answered Mrs. Dove, the thought- 
fully tender expression of the true mother 
stealing over her face. “ I could n’t be sepa- 
rated from them for a whole Summer. You 
don’t know what they are to me, dear Aunty. 
Nobody does.” 

I did not remind Amelia that she had found 
it quite possible to bear a whole Winter’s 
separation from the children, during which 
time their grandmother had had the entire 
charge of them. Her great blue eyes would 
have filled with tears at the recollection of 
the suffering she had secretly endured while 
ostensibly leading a life of moderate gaiety 
at Aiken. 


64 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


Mr. Dove had been dead for a little more 
than a year. He had succumbed to a violent 
cold caught while camping out in the Adiron- 
dacks. Amelia, who had nursed him with the 
greatest devotion, now bore his loss with 
amazing fortitude, and administered the small 
property left to her with judicious care. 

“ Won’t it be rather an expensive trip ? ” I 
ventured, not finding a suitable reply to my 
niece’s last remark. 

‘‘ Well, you know I must go somewhere 
for the Summer,” said Amelia, clasping her 
hands behind her smooth, golden head. “ I 
know it would have been a comfort to mamma 
if she could have kept the children, but Susie 
and Tom — ” Amelia’s sister and her husband 
— “ got it into their heads that she really 
ought to have some change, so they absolutely 
insisted upon her spending the hot months 
with them at Bar Harbor, and, as the house 
is too small to take in the children, I thought 
it would be better to take them abroad with 
me. They are such companions to me. Aunt 
Charlotte; I miss them so when I am away 
from them.” 

“Why not stay here with them?” I sug- 
5 6s 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


gested, knowing that the reasons against it 
would be admirable. 

‘‘Oh, I couldn’t do that, dear Aunty. 
Where could I go ? I can’t bear the moun- 
tains since — since poor Arthur’s death, you 
know, and the seaside places in this country 
are horrid — except Newport, where I could 
not go this year. We’ll go to the Italian 
lakes, you and I, Aunty, when it really gets 
hot, and have a delicious time all to ourselves. 
I ’m very rich just now, really, and you always 
have plenty of money.” 

“ What makes you so rich ? ” I demanded, 
with some curiosity, for Amelia did not often 
appear satisfied with the state of her finances. 

“ Well, you see, I have been speculating a 
little,” returned my niece, confidentially. “ At 
least, dear old Phoenix Morman did it for me. 
He is so kind ! I told him I wanted to make 
some extra pennies in order to go abroad and 
live riotously, and he said he would make 
them for me. It was something he knew of 
that was so sure to turn out well that he did 
not even disturb my investments to get the 
money. He just lent it to me himself, and it 
turned out splendidly. He and I both made 
66 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


a great deal. Is n't it fun ? He ’s going out 
on the vessel we go on, Aunty. Are n't you 
glad? He has a wonderful mind, and is such 
an interesting man. We have long talks to- 
gether about all sorts of things." 

Phoenix Morman's mind being one of the 
most marvellous money-making machines in 
the country, and Amelia's really by no means 
the least, I could imagine their long talks 
to be well worth listening to. The idea was 
amusing. 

“ The Bishop of Stillpenny is going over, 
too," went on Mrs. Dove, “ and Mrs. Crosier, 
I suppose. Oh ! and poor Mr. Wister, you 
know, whose wife died not long ago. They 
say he behaved wonderfully during her long 
illness. He is one of the most able and 
distinguished men of the day — is n't he. 
Aunt Charlotte ? — besides being one of the 
richest." 

“ I believe so, my dear," I answered. ‘‘ I 
never met him." 

Poor Aunty ! " cried Amelia, rising and 
stealing a gentle arm round my neck. “ You 
have led a very shut-up life lately. Come 
abroad with me and see new places and people. 

67 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


You don’t know what else to do with your- 
self, do you, dear ? You shall have half my 
cabin, and I ’ll be so good to you, and you 
will be such a comfort to me.” 

So I yielded. 

It was a warm day in the early part of 
April when we started. It had in some way 
been brought to my mind that by taking a 
four-wheeled cab and stopping at the house for 
the children, their nurse and Amelia’s maid, 
I should be doing what was greatly to my 
own advantage. Accordingly, I stopped be- 
fore the abode of my niece at the hour named, 
and beheld the noses of Master Theodore 
and Miss Alicia Dove flattened against the 
drawing-room window in earnest watching for 
my approach. They disappeared from the 
window to burst out of the door as soon as 
it was opened, and immediately clambered 
into the carriage, volubly explaining to me 
that their mamma had gone out to do some 
shopping, but would join us on the dock at 
Hoboken, from which place our vessel sailed. 

My heart sank. Amelia never hurried 
herself, and had once or twice been known 
68 




MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 

to miss trains and boats altogether. The 
nurse, who had followed the children, re- 
assured me a little. 

“ Madame had found herself obliged to 
attend to some forgotten business, but had 
left word that she should be at the dock 
before us — long before us.” 

Amelia’s maid appeared with umbrella, 
bag, cloak, and a pink pillow, without which 
Mrs. Dove never travelled. The various 
other bags and bundles appertaining to the 
party were put in, and we rumbled away from 
the door. 

Theodore and Alicia sat by me on the back 
seat, Theodore, by reason of his more mature 
age, next the window. They were very quiet 
and well behaved, and with their golden hair 
and white apparel seemed quite fitted to take 
their place among cherubs at a moment’s 
notice. 

‘‘My mamma has to work very hard for 
such a little woman,” said Theodore, reflec- 
tively, after a long silence. 

“ Wery hard,” returned Alicia, with a sigh ; 
“ almost as hard as cook. But cook ’s going to 
be married to Officer Denny soon, and then 
69 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


she won’t have to work no more, she says. 
Could mamma marry an officer, Aunt Char- 
lotte ? ” 

‘‘ She could,” said I, briefly, but I don’t 
think it would please her. Look out of the 
window, Alicia. There’s a fluffy white dog 
on the steps of that house.” 

“ My mamma is going to take Nips abroad 
with her,” declared Theodore. Nips was 
Amelia’s bull terrier. “ He ’s out in the 
carriage with her now.” 

“ I trust you are mistaken, Theodore,” I 
cried, in some dismay, for I did not relish Nips 
as a travelling companion. 

“ No, indeed,’* he returned, wagging his 
head solemnly. “ What was it they said at 
afternoon tea yesterday, Alicia? When Mr. 
Raymond was there, you know.” 

“ ‘ You are such a little woman to work so 
hard,’ ” quoted Alicia, absently, her attention 
absorbed by an organ-grinder. 

“No — I said that to Aunt Charlotte al- 
ready,” cried her brother, with the air of hav- 
ing discharged himself of a holiday task. “ I 
mean about Nips. Oh, I know. He said, 
‘ Let me keep Nips for you ; I want to keep 
70 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


something of yours.* And mamma said, ‘ No, 

you don’t love Nips,* and he said ** 

“ Never mind, Theodore,** I interposed 
hastily. ‘‘ Here we are at the ferry. Don’t 
you want to pay for me ? ** 

Mr. Raymond had adored Amelia for so 
long that his speeches could be foretold with- 
out much difficulty. The nurse and the maid 
exchanged demure glances. 

The crossing did not take much time, and 
we had only a short distance to drive before 
we reached our destination. 

Amelia was not there, of course. I searched 
the dock with my eyes as we drove along. I 
swept the deck with nervous glances. As soon 
as I could free myself from the children I went 
down to the cabin which I had been told I was 
to share with my niece. My own steamer 
trunk stared me in the face, and my bag, um- 
brella, and rug had already been conveyed there 
by a nimble steward, but of Amelia’s numerous 
belongings there was no trace. Even Nips, as 
a sign that his mistress had not deserted me — 
even that abominable, snorting bull terrier 
would have been a comfort now. 

The children, who had a cabin near by, chose 

71 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


this moment to escape from their nurse and 
burst in upon me with a torrent of questions. 

Was that where I was going to sleep ? Did 
ships always have round windows.^ Was the 
captain ever seasick ? When would they be 
seasick ? Theodore would rather have the 

ammonia/’ really, than be seasick, but Alicia 
didn’t mind, because she was only a girl. 

I felt that I could cheerfully endure both 
nausea and the ammonia,” little as I knew 
of that unusual disease, if only Amelia would 
appear. She was so superbly capable of arriv- 
ing too late and calmly taking the next steamer. 

‘^Let us go on deck, my dears,” I said 
anxiously, taking Alicia’s hand, and watch 
for your mother. Your nurse and Francine 
will manage better down here without you, I 
dare say.” 

“My mamma will not come for a long time, 
I am sure,” returned Theodore, skipping 
ahead ; “ she is most un-punk-shial. Grand- 
mamma often says so to her.” 

As we passed through the saloon I noticed 
no less than three enormous boxes of flowers, 
two baskets of fruit, a large box from Mail- 
lard’s, and a pile of books, all bearing the name 
72 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


of Mrs. Dove, and it comforted me vaguely to 
see these evidences of Amelia’s expected arrival. 
A steward was staggering along with a wooden 
box, apparently containing champagne, and 
marked, I had no manner of doubt, with my 
niece’s name. Theodore’s head, which he 
carried rather low, the better to observe the 
number of skips he could accommodate to the 
pattern of the carpet, came into violent contact 
with this box, and in the momentary pause that 
ensued I verified my surmises and noticed, 
besides, that the card tacked on the case bore 
the “compliments” of Phoenix Morman. 

We went up on deck, Theodore somewhat 
subdued in spirit and Alicia clinging to my 
hand. The utmost bustle and confusion 
reigned. Sailors and stewards passed swiftly 
to and fro, orders were shouted, groups of 
people gathered and dissolved in front of us. 
I saw the Bishop of Stillpenny and Mrs. 
Crosier arriving with Mr. Morman in his 
beautifully appointed carriage. Their appear- 
ance was most impressive as they descended 
from the vehicle and mounted the gangplank — 
the Bishop all blandness, from the bend of his 
large white nose to the curve of the handsome 
73 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


calf his gaiter so well displayed, and Mrs. 
Crosier carrying her small person as upright 
as a dart. Behind them Mr. Morman*s huge 
figure and rugged, clever face arrested the 
attention suddenly as one realised how like he 
was to the somewhat unflattering caricatures 
the papers occasionally ventured to print of 
him. 

A few minutes later the shore whistle was 
blown, and people began to take their departure. 
I was nearly frantic. 

“ Theodore,*' said I, if your mother does 
not come I am going to get off this vessel." 

Alicia looked very doleful. We always 
has to stay until mamma comes," she said, with 
the patience of long habit. 

At this instant a neat brougham drove down 
to the pier, and out of it stepped Amelia, fol- 
lowed by Mr. Raymond, laden with packages 
and flowers. Nips bundled up the gangplank 
ahead of them. 

Upon my word, Amelia," I cried, on the 
verge of nervous tears, I should have been 
off this ship in another moment. I really 
thought something must have happened to 
you." 


74 


jiiLS£Jie=se^xdii^ 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 

“ Oh, no, dear Aunty,” returned Mrs. Dove, 
tranquilly. “ I never am very early, you know, 
but I don't often miss things, do I, Ned ? ” 
turning to Mr. Raymond. “ I had a great 
deal to do this morning, so I told Ned to send 
the brougham for 'me, and as he came with it I 
went and chose some horses for him, and such 
a pretty pony for you, Theodore — Mr. Ray- 
mond is going to keep it for you till we come 
back in the Autumn — and for you, too, my 
bird, my dear, sweet little yellow-haired Alicia, 
the tiniest pony you ever saw ; and you shall 
both come out riding with your poor old 
mother, to take care of her.” Amelia knelt 
down on the deck and hugged the children. 
“ Then I went to get a copy of Dante in the 
original. Aunt Charlotte,” she went on, looking 
up at me from the charming position she 
had unconsciously assumed, and some Italian 
books — grammars and things, you know. I 
am going to study all the way over. And then 
Ned ” 

‘"Ned ought to be going, if he will forgive 
me for saying so,” I cried, in an agony. 
“ They are taking away the gangplank.” And 
so they were. 


75 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIAN S 


Oh, he can go back with the pilot,” said 
Amelia, rising. “ Have you seen Mr. Mor- 
man. Aunty, or the Crosiers ? And do tell me, 
how does poor Mr. Wister look ? ” 

‘H really don’t know,” said I, rather crossly. 

I have not seen him.” 

“ Oh, I do hope he is on board,” said Mrs. 
Dove. I want you to meet him.” 

Some time later Amelia followed me to my 
cabin, where I had retired to escape the con- 
templation of Mr. Raymond’s silent agony of 
farewell. 

“ Ned ’s gone,” she said. Poor old Ned ! 
he is good, but so dull ! Aunt Charlotte, I am 
going to leave you this whole stateroom to 
your own self. It seems that Mrs. Morman 
meant to come, and then did not at the last 
moment, and dear old Phoenix insists upon my 
taking her room. It ’s a deck room, you know. 
I could n’t have afforded it myself, but, as he 
says, why not occupy it, when it ’s just stand- 
ing there empty? You don’t mind, do you. 
Aunty ? I ’ll leave you Nips if you are afraid 
to be alone.” 

“ I don’t mind being alone, thank you,” 
said I, hastily. And they would n’t allow 
76 




MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 

you to leave Nips in this part of the 
boat.” 

I 'll make Mr. Morman see the Captain 
about it,” said Amelia. ‘‘ 1 think I 'd feel 
happier about both of you if you were to- 
gether. I wonder where my birds are — 
are n't they the dearest little creatures in the 
world ? Theodore was walking up and down 
the deck with the Bishop, and Alicia was 
sitting on Mrs. Crosier's lap when I came 
down. Everyone loves the children ; they 
are so serious ; they are companions to any- 
body, the funny little owls ! ” 

I suggested going up on deck to fetch the 
funny little owls before the long, lazy At- 
lantic swell began to have any effect upon 
them. 

I have an idea they will be good sailors, 
like you and me. Aunty,” said Amelia, but 
don't let me keep you if you want to go up. 
They will be so pleased to see you ! I must 
stay and speak to Francine about some things 
I want got out of my trunk.” 

The first people I saw as I stepped out into 
the fresh air were Mrs. Crosier and Alicia, 
cosily ensconced in the same chair. They 
77 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


welcomed me cordially and invited me to sit 
near them. 

This is the most quaintly solemn child I 
ever saw,” remarked Mrs. Crosier to me. 
“And the boy is delightful.” Theodore here 
passed us, in earnest conversation with the 
Bishop. “ Their mother seems to have been 
very particular about their bringing up.” 

“ She selected very good people for them 
to be with whenever her duties called her else- 
where,” I returned cautiously. “Alicia, my 
dear, do you feel at all seasick ? ” 

Alicia shook her head. “ No, Aunt Char- 
lotte, I don't think so, but I erlieve Theo- 
dore does, for he made a funny face just now 
— just like those gentlemen in the particular 
partoons [political cartoons] Nanna shows us 
in the amusin' papers,” 

“ Why does n't he go downstairs, then ? ” 
said I. 

“ Oh, mamma promised him he might say 
his evening hymn to that Bishop — Mr. 
Bishop, I mean,” returned Alicia, “ and he 
does n’t think it 's late enough yet to begin*” 
As she spoke Theodore passed again, look- 
ing pale and determined. 

78 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


‘‘ Don’t you want to come with me and see 
whether we can find your mother’s stateroom, 
Theodore ? ” I asked. 

“In a few minutes, Aunt Charlotte,” he 
returned heroically ; “ as soon as I ’ve said 
‘ For those in peril on the sea.’ Is it too 
soon to say it ? ” he added, turning to the 
Bishop. 

“Not at all too soon, I should say,” an- 
swered the Bishop, laughing outright. So 
Theodore took off his hat and recited the 
whole hymn with much gravity, Alicia echo- 
ing such words as she could catch. He then 
put his cold little hand in mine, bowed to the 
company and suffered me to lead him away. 

I found Amelia without much difficulty. 
She had the largest and most beautifully 
decorated cabin on the boat. It was filled 
with flowers, books lay on the sofa, the box 
of candy had been opened, and a delicate little 
pair of tongs marked the especial compart- 
ment to which Mrs. Dove’s attention had last 
been directed. Francine and a steward were 
on their knees trying to pull out the steamer 
trunk, which had got caught under the berth. 
I wondered how long Amelia had known she 
79 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


was to occupy these palatial quarters. I re- 
membered that the trunk had never been in 
my cabin at all. 

“ Theodore feels ill,” said I, addressing my 
niece’s back as she stood in front of the glass 
smoothing her hair. 

“ Does he ? ” cried Amelia, turning round. 
She lifted the boy in her arms, pushing the 
books onto the floor as she laid him on the 
sofa. “ Poor little Theodore ! What shall I 
give him. Aunty? Why, he’s quite cold. 
Dear chick ! Mamma is so sorry ! ” She 
smoothed the hair away from his forehead 
and kissed him tenderly. 

‘‘ I feel better now I am flat,” remarked 
the young gentleman, “ and I said my hymn 
to the Bishop before I came away.” 

“ Did you, my sweet ? ” said his mother. 
“That was so good in you. Is n’t he a duck. 
Aunt Charlotte ? ” 

“ He is,” I returned absently. “ Amelia, 
when did Mr. Morman ask you to take this 
cabin? After you came on board ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; he spoke to me about it the 
other evening when I dined with him at the 
Waldorf,” said Amelia, simply. 

8o 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


At this point Alicia appeared, to announce 
that she had lost her hat overboard. Mrs. 
Crosier, who accompanied her, appeared to 
feel rather guilty about the accident and apol- 
ogised at some length for her negligence, but 
Amelia’s gentleness blamed nobody. She only 
said, in her caressing way, that they must 
borrow one of the sailors’ hats for Alicia if 
she lost any more of her own. 

Mrs. Crosier was charmed with her, and the 
two paced the deck for an hour or more, 
while Francine arranged the contents of the 
trunk and I told the children stories. 

When, at length, they consented to go down 
to their cabin, and I was free to join Amelia, 
the Bishop’s wife had left her, and she was in 
earnest conversation with a short, fat, round- 
eyed little woman, not unlike a frog in a 
black dress, from whom she separated as I 
came toward them. 

‘"That’s Mrs. Robberly, the dressmaker,” 
she remarked, taking my arm. “ Such a 
funny old woman ! She has just offered to 
make me some gowns for nothing if 1 will 
choose one or two good models for her as we 
come back through Paris ; wear them once or 

6 8i 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


twice, you know, and bring them in for her. 
Poor old thing ! I think it would be kind of 
me to help her, don’t you. Aunt Charlotte ? 
People have such a hard struggle to live in 
these days. I don’t care about clothes my- 
self, but one must be decently dressed, and, 
as I am not rich, I suppose I ought to be glad 
to get my frocks as cheaply as possible.” 

‘‘ Who pays for the model gowns ? ” I 
inquired, with some curiosity. 

Oh, Mrs. Robberly does,” said Amelia, 
“ I could n’t afford it. Shall we go and dress 
for dinner now. Aunty ? I am really hungry. 
And, as you go down, will you stop and see 
if the children are all right? I am anxious 
about Theodore.” 

But later, when I attempted to report to 
Amelia — across the table, where she sat be- 
tween the Captain and Mr. Morman — that 
her maternal anxieties were needless, I found 
it impossible to engage her attention, so 
gravely absorbed and intelligently interested 
did she appear in the discussion of wireless 
telegraphy which was taking place between 
her two neighbours. 

When I bade her good-night she was read- 
82 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


ing Dante with the Bishop, but she had not 
been unmindful of my comfort. Nips was 
asleep in the middle of my berth, and the 
cabin resounded with his snores. 

We ran into a storm that night, and for 
some days afterward were so tossed about that 
I took the precaution to stay in my berth, not 
on account of seasickness, but because I felt 
that there was great danger of breaking some 
of my elderly bones if I got up. Most of the 
passengers on the ship followed my example, 
but not so Amelia. She was up and about as 
usual. She used to come in to see me, with 
her hair glistening with the salt spray and her 
face as pink as a rose. 

“ It is so marvellous on deck. Aunty,” she 
said, one day, nestling into a corner of the 
sofa. Such a grand sight ! Mr. Morman 
and I have been walking up and down for an 
hour. Those great, hungry, gray waves rac- 
ing after us, and the flashes of white spray 
flying past against the blackness of the sky. 
The sea is wonderful, isn’t it.^ You can 
think great thoughts a-nd feel great feelings 
when you are face to face with a power like 
that. I seemed so little, so little ; and all 

83 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


my small hopes and ambitions were swept 
away like straws in the wind. That 's a very 
pretty dressing-sacque you have on, you dear, 
nice lady, and what quantities of real lace they 
trimmed it with ! That 's one of the very 
few extravagances I permit myself, real lace, — 
it is so ladylike. Mr. Morman gave me a 
beautiful black lace fan for my birthday. He 
is a wonderful man. Aunt Charlotte. So big, 
you know; such a large nature! — though, 
perhaps, not quite so noble as Mr. Wister’s. 
I can’t imagine Mr. Morman putting his 
sorrow behind him and taking up life again 
in the wonderful way Mr. Wister has. And 
he does n’t understand one so quickly.” 

Bless my soul 1 ” said I. “I forgot all 
about Mr. Wister. Surely he was n’t at table 
the first night out ? I don’t think I saw him.” 

‘‘ No,” said Amelia. He sprained his 
ankle just before we sailed, and he has been 
confined to his cabin, poor dear 1 I sent him 
down a lot of fruit and books when I heard of 
it, and I got such a nice note from him. He 
likes just the things I like ; and what an acute 
mind he has 1 I go and talk to him every day 
now, I and Mr. Morman, who insists upon 
84 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


chaperoning me. Dear old Phoenix ! It *s 
very kind of him, but, somehow, I think we 
should get on better without him. He is a 
little possessive, you know. He seems to feel 
that I am under his charge, which is so ridicu- 
lous. I must give him a hint about it. Be- 
cause a person is generous and likes to give 
pretty things and make life easy for people, is 
no reason why he should be dictatorial, is it ? 

“ Really,” I exclaimed, I think Mr. Mor- 
man is entirely right to consider it not quite 
nice for you to go and sit with Mr. Wister 
alone.” 

Do you, dear ? ” said Amelia, kissing me. 

How old-fashioned you are ! As if anything 
a nice woman did could be otherwise than nice ! 
The only thing to be is just true and simple,” 
continued Mrs. Dove, reflectively, ‘^and then 
let people say what they please. I am sure 
Mr. Wister does not misunderstand. Though 
I don't think he is very sympathetic with Mr. 
Morman. What a rare thing perfect sympathy 
is, especially between men ! ” 

How are the children ? ” I asked abruptly, 
for I cannot always breathe in those lofty 
heights to which Amelia soars. 

85 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


“ Oh, poor little birds, they were very ill for 
ever so long,” returned she, ‘‘ and Theodore 
did nothing but groan, ‘Oh, this is agony,’ but 
Alicia slept nearly all the time. Their nurse 
was ill, too, and so was Francine. I had to 

get Mr. Morman to lace my ” 

“What ? ” cried I, as she paused. Amelia’s 
unconventionality was a trifle alarming. 

“ — boots every morning,” continued my 
niece, struggling with a yawn. “Excuse me. 
Aunt Charlotte, I am sleepy because I was up 
late last night with a poor woman in the second 
cabin who was awfully ill. The stewardesses 
were too busy to attend to her, so I went. I 
think she has got pneumonia. I had a con- 
sultation with the doctor about her.” 

“ Is there nothing we can do ? ” I asked. 
“No, she is getting every care now. I paid 
a woman to look after her. I think we ought 
to help everybody we can. \t is 2. privilege to 
be allowed to help other people.” 

“ Let me enjoy it too, then. You ’ll find 
my purse in that bag over there.” 

“You are awfully good, dear Aunty, but in- 
deed it is not necessary. Mr. Morman gave 
most generously the moment I mentioned the 
86 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


case to him. I had meant to give a little, too, 
for I played ecarte with him last evening after 
dinner, and it seemed only right to give some 
of my winnings, but he would not let me.** 

‘‘ Did you win much ? ’* I asked. 

But Amelia had left the room, and I heard 
her voice cooing and laughing in the sweetest 
way with the children in the neighbouring cabin. 

The next day was calm enough to tempt me 
up on deck, and at about twelve o*clock one 
morning I was w^alking toward the open door 
of Amelia*s gorgeous stateroom. I may be 
old-fashioned, as my niece says, but I do not, 
and never shall, think it proper for a young 
woman to receive persons of the opposite sex 
in her room, especially when she is not yet 
up. Amelia looked like a Madonna. She 
had a blue ribbon in her hair, a wonderful lace 
dressing-sacque over her wonderful lace night- 
gown, and a beautiful blue silk cover thrown 
over her bed, but, all the same, she was in 
bed, and I was amazed when I found that 
the Bishop of Stillpenny was playing at chess 
with her. 

‘‘ Good-morning, Aunt Charlotte. Is n*t 
the Bishop good ? ** cried Amelia, pausing with 

87 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


her white hand on an even pinker bishop than 
Joseph of Stillpenny. “ I was wretched this 
morning, and so lonely, and when he passed 
the door I could not resist calling him, and he 
has been comforting me ever since. It must 
be so glorious to know that wherever you go 
you bring comfort.’' 

“ It would be very glorious if I could hope 
it were so,” said the Bishop, in his rolling, 
sonorous voice. ‘‘ Ah, my dear child, I wish 
it were in my power to give you real comfort. 
Checkmate! So it is. I must go to Mrs. 
Crosier.” 

‘‘We were talking of the impossibility of 
earthly relations beyond the grave, and of — 
of poor Arthur, you know,” said Amelia to me. 
“ I have always blamed myself that I insisted 
upon going to the Adirondacks that summer. 
Perhaps I was wrong to try to retrench. It 
was his money, of course. Well! I am glad 
he had the good of it while he was alive.” 

As I remembered it, Arthur Dove’s money 
had flown chiefly in the keeping up of an es- 
tablishment for the amusement of Amelia and 
the use of her friends, but I knew Amelia did 
not think so. 


88 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


“ Sometimes/* she continued, I feel as if I 
ought to do something for the children. 
Women do make money. They keep shops, 
or they write, or they — ** 

Or they marry rich husbands,** I suggested, 

idly. 

“ Oh, Aunt Charlotte, dear ! ’* cried Amelia. 
“ How can you say such a — forgive me — 
coarse thing to me ? I never could marry again 
after — ** Her eyes filled with tears. 

I kissed her and begged her forgiveness, 
assuring her that I had meant nothing 
personal. 

*m sure you did n*t, dear, only there are 
some things one can*t bear to have said,** 
Amelia answered. “ Now, we will forget all 
about it. Did you see the children this morn- 
ing ? They are with Mrs. Crosier, I suppose. 
Poor Alicia ! Her nurse tells me it was her only 
hat that was lost overboard. I really think her 
grandmother might have allowed her another, 
the poor mite. And oh. Aunty, why did you 
banish Nips ? Theodore tells me he is living 
with the cook.** 

“ I hope he is,** said I, and that he is en- 
joying a greater freedom in breathing than he 
89 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

attained in the limited air space of my cabin. 
I think he 's better off where he is.*' 

“ I must go and see him when I get up,** 
said Amelia. “ Please don't go, Aunty. Mr. 
Morman and Mr. Wister are coming to teach 
me bridge-whist directly, and we must have a 
fourth. I hope they will get on well to-day.** 
Mr. Wister was a tall, gray-haired, fine- 
looking man, with a splendid figure. His nose 
was clever ; his eyes, if anything, a little close 
together. His manners were charming, suave 
and diplomatic, and his voice of a most agree- 
able quality. A greater contrast to the rugged- 
featured red face, brilliant, fierce eyes and stern, 
abrupt manner of Phoenix Morman it would be 
difficult to imagine. It appeared to me they 
did not like each other. 

Amelia was wonderful with them both. Her 
dove-like eyes fixed first upon one and then 
upon the other ; she followed their every word 
of instruction. It occurred to me that her 
mastery of the game was astonishing for a be- 
ginner; certainly her luck was, and to my 
“old-fashioned** notions the stakes were high. 
But I was beyond protesting. 

At the end of a game we suddenly heard a 
90 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


slight commotion on deck, and, on sending to 
inquire the cause, learned that we were in sight 
of the Azores. 

Amelia was out of bed in an instant. 

Oh, give me my dressing-gown, Mr. 
Morman, like a dear,” she cried, holding out 
her hand for a blue-silk and white lace gar- 
ment that hung over a chair. And, Mr. 
Wister, do find my slippers ! I must see 
some land after all these watery days ! I 
can’t wait ! ” 

She thrust herself into the things, and, 
followed by the gentlemen, pattered out on 
deck before I could recover the power of 
speech. 

She was back in an instant. 

I must dress. Aunty. We shall be at 
anchor before long, and I mean to go on 
shore.” 

“ Amelia, my dear,” I said, seriously, you 
really ought to be ashamed of yourself! What 
could those men have thought of you ? I — 
you — my dear — you have no idea how very 
little you appeared to have on.” 

Dear Aunt Charlotte,” she returned, 

Mr. Wister and Mr. Morman are gentle- 

91 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


men, and consequently could think nothing 
disagreeable of me. I am not ashamed of 
myself, but I am ashamed of you for attaching 
such unpleasant importance to such a simple 
thing. I am afraid we differ very greatly in 
our ideas on these matters.” And such was 
her dignity that I went out from her presence 
abashed. 

During the days of the storm Amelia had 
been most nautical in her appearance. A little 
yachting cap of Theodore’s had adorned her 
golden head, and a short blue serge skirt and 
a double-breasted jacket with gold buttons 
showed off her trim figure to great advantage. 
To-day, however, when, after keeping us 
waiting for some time, she stepped into the 
boat to go ashore, she looked like a little girl 
going to a garden party. A vision in white 
she was, crowned with a hat of apple blossoms 
and pink ribbons. Alicia, whose head had 
been somewhat ruthlessly thrust into an old 
scarlet Tam-o’-Shanter of her brother’s, ad- 
mired her mother exceedingly. So, appar- 
ently, did Mr. Wister, who watched our 
departure with an inscrutable smile. 

“ Is n’t my mamma pretty ? ” Alicia asked, 
92 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


confidentially. I think she is the very pret- 
tiest lady in the world.’* 

Amelia, who was sitting next to her, turned 
and kissed the child. “What should I do 
without you, my precious bird ? ” she said. 
“ You look rather hot in that Tam, Alicia. 
Mamma must give you this hat, must n’t she, 
when we get to the places where little girls 
need hats ? Theodore, you will splash Mrs. 
Crosier if you fall into the water. Just hold 
him for me, dear Mr. Morman. What a 
pity Mr. Wister’s ankle is n’t well enough to 
let him come on shore ! This is a beautiful 
place. Look ! there ’s a thick hedge of ca- 
melias in that garden on the hill.” 

We were being rowed into the tiny crescent- 
shaped harbour of Ponte del Garda, on the 
island of San Miguel. A house curiously 
covered with light blue tiles, like a high 
mantelpiece, faced us, but for the most part 
the buildings were low, two stories being the 
average of the better class of them. We 
landed at some steps and walked under an 
arcade of white arches to the principal street. 
Amelia was in ecstasies. The little narrow 
ways, the tiny shops, the bullocks that dragged 
93 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


the water-barrels through the streets (and to 
avoid which we had to flatten ourselves 
against the walls of the houses) were all en- 
chanting to her. And when we came to the., 
little bull-ring, for all the world like the one"^ 
in ‘‘ Carmen,” she could hardly contain her-; 
self. She wanted to leave the steamer then. •' 
and there, she said, and convey her party to 
the small English hotel, where, much to his';« 
surprise, Phoenix Morman had found two’ 
friends of his were staying. She wished, she 
declared, to explore not only San Miguel but 
every single island of the beautiful group. 

Mr. Morman at once offered to stay with 
her, and she thanked him with a look of the 
most angelic renunciation. 

“ I believe you really would,” said she, 
caressingly. “You are so unselfish. Oh, 
Mr. Morman, what a friend you are ! ” 
“You little witch,” he returned, endeavour- 
ing to lower his usually unreserved tones. 

“ Be careful how you play with me ! There 
is very little I would not do for you. But 
don’t presume too far upon my friendship, 
Amelia looked detached and pensive, as if 
in contemplation of some great moral problem, 

94 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


and, calling Theodore to her side, asked him 
if he had ever seen so pretty a place. 

Theodore, however, was unimpressed by 
the beauties of the white convent with heavy 
black lava trimmings which we were passing 
at the moment. He said he did not care 
much for abroad,” and that he would rather 
see a Broadway cable car than anything his 
mother could show him in that place. 

You will see trolleys when you get to 
Genoa,” said Amelia, laughing, and she walked 
on with Mr. Morman and left the children 
to Mrs. Crosier and me. She did not rejoin 
us for some time. 

It had been decided that a party of us were 
to dine at the little hotel in the town. Mr. 
Morman gave the dinner, and Amelia, of 
course, was to be the chief guest, but to my 
surprise she complained of being very tired 
and declared her intention of going back to 
the ship with the children. As the fatigues 
of the day had given me a violent headache, 
I gladly seized the opportunity of accompany- 
ing her, at which she protested a little. 

Mr. Morman will be so disappointed 
that you can’t go to his dinner ! ” she said. 

95 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


You and the Crosiers, and that funny little 
Englishman and his wife whom we met at 
the hotel, were to be his only guests. I am 
awfully sorry I have had to give out, but I 
really am tired and must rest. Perhaps I ’ll 
be able to come back after dinner. The 
Captain said we did not start again till eleven 
o’clock. It must be lovely here by moon- 
light. Aunty, do you think I could take 
Francine and stay here, just till the next 
steamer comes, while you and the children 
went on to Genoa and waited for me ? Mr. 
Morman wants me so much to do it, and I 
could be with his friends at the hotel, you 
know. Not that a woman in my position 
needs a chaperone. What do you think — 
could I do it ? ” 

I stood aghast. 

I suppose you could, my dear,” I gasped, 
“ but I really hope you won’t. I think it 
would be a mistake.” 

Do you. Aunty ? Then I ’ll think it 
over ; but it will be a great disappointment to 
Mr. Morman. He had quite set his heart 
upon it, and I should have enjoyed it very 
much. I was to give the orders about the 
96 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


trunks when I went back now, and tell his 
servant and explain to the Captain.” 

My dear Amelia,” said I, it would be a 
very wild thing to do. How do you know that 
you could get rooms in the next steamer that 
touches here, and, besides, consider the extra 
expense, if you won't consider appearances.” 

“ I think there would be no difficulty about 
the rooms so late in the year,” returned my 
niece, and I suppose my part of the expense 
would be very little ; but if you disapprove, 
dear, of course I will not do it. I never want 
to do what you really think wrong. Don’t 
speak of it to Mr. Morman, will you ? I 
will explain it to him, so that his feelings may 
not be hurt. Yes, I dare say — indeed, I am 
sure you are right. You are so wise, you 
don’t know how I appreciate being with you. 
The world has an evil tongue. Does your 
head ache very badly ? ” 

Very badly," I returned. 

‘‘Then I won’t tease you about another 
thing,” said Amelia, petting me. “ And I 
would n’t leave you for a kingdom. And I ’ll 
tell Mr. Morman that we must take our little 
trip another time — when I am old ! ” 

7 97 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


The gentleman in question now approaching 
us, Amelia walked aside with him, looking up at 
him with her wonderful eyes and gesticulating in 
her pretty way. He did not seem displeased. 

Everything is arranged,” she said to me as 
we rowed back to the ship, Alicia half asleep 
and Theodore wholly cross from fatigue. 
“And now you shall all go straight to bed, 
and I ’ll come and tuck you up, and then I ’ll 
have my little scrap of dinner and go to bed 
myself, for I am very tired.” 

The next morning she came into my cabin 
looking as clear-eyed and rosy as a child. 

“ There ’s your coffee. Aunt Charlotte,” she 
cried gaily. “ And how is your headache ? 
We have left the Azores far behind in the 
night, with all their quaint little towns and 
their windmills and their gardens. And we 
have left Mr. Morman behind, too ! ” 

“ So he made up his mind to stay, in spite 
of your refusal to join him in his expedition ? ” 
cried I, in some surprise. 

“Well, not exactly that. Aunty,” murmured 
Mrs. Dove, gently. “You know, I thought 
he really would want to see those beautiful 
islands some time, and it was a pity to miss 
98 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


such a good opportunity, and his friends were 
there and all that, so, as I was afraid my change 
of mind might put him out of conceit with the 
plan, I did not tell him that I was not going. 
I just wrote him a little note when his man 
went ashore with the baggage. And then we 
steamed away into the night and left him. It 
was just as well. Aunt Charlotte; he was — I 
hardly know how to say it — Amelia paused 
modestly — “but I think he was falling in love 
with me in his queer way. He said such odd 
things. It’s curious, isn’t it. Aunty, a man 
like that, with such a head for figures and a 
mind for finance ? ” 

“To say nothing of his being old enough to 
be your father, and having a wife and children,” 
cried I, indignantly. 

“ But that does n’t stop men. Aunt Char- 
lotte,” said Amelia. “ At least, not now- 
adays.” 

“ Is that why you would n’t dine with him ? ” 
I inquired, curiously. Amelia’s motives were 
always so interesting. 

“ Oh, no,” she replied simply. “ I could n’t 
have dined with him because I had promised 
to dine on board with poor Mr. Wister.” 
a.ofC. 99 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


The Crosiers appeared slightly puzzled by 
the unexplained eccentricity of Mr. Morman's 
behaviour. They were by way of travelling 
with him, and Mrs. Crosier confided to me that 
the Bishop was a good deal annoyed. 

So unlike Phoenix Morman to do a thing 
like that ! ” she said. ‘‘ I never knew him to 
change his plans for anybody. He certainly 
gave me no reason to think he was going to 
stay. It is unaccountable.” 

“ It is, indeed,” I returned, guiltily, glancing 
involuntarily at Amelia, who was reading Ital- 
ian under a parasol near by. 

Mrs. Dove was demureness itself these days. 
She played with her children and read Dante — 
or said she did — with the Bishop, talked of 
the wonders of navigation with the Captain at 
meals, and devoted a great deal of her time to 
the solace of Mr. Wister. She and he used to 
play chess together every evening. She said 
that, nobly as he bore his sorrow, he did need 
sympathetic companionship, and he certainly 
appeared to get more of it now that Mr. Mor- 
man was no longer with us. 

“ You know he dl be Ambassador to England 
some day. Aunt Charlotte ; they say there is 

lOO 


MY NIECE, MRS. DOVE 


little doubt of it. Rich, distinguished, noble- 
minded and handsome, and yet how hollow his 
life is ! How paltry worldly advantages seem 
when one’s heart is heavy ! I know how it is. 
As I said to Mr. Wister last night, ‘ I have 
been through the depths that you have been 
through. We can be friends, the closest, 
dearest friends.’ ” 

And that very evening I came upon the 
closest and dearest of friends sitting together 
on deck, and I am very much mistaken if the 
broken-hearted widower was not holding 
Amelia’s hand. 

Still, I was not prepared for the announce- 
ment that she made to me on the evening of 
the day before we were to touch at Gibraltar. 

Dear Aunt Charlotte,’' she said, “ shall 
you really very much mind taking the children 
and Nips on to Genoa ? I — the fact is that 
William — ” here she blushed a little — I 
mean Mr. Wister, is getting off at Gibraltar to 
take a trip through Spain, and as he cannot 
bear to part with me — he loves me very 
dearly. Aunty — I have agreed to go with him. 
The Bishop has consented to marry us to- 
morrow at the American Consul’s at Gibraltar, 


lOI 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


and we shall spend our honeymoon in Spain 
and afterward come and join you at the Italian 
lakes. I ’m afraid I have taken you rather by 
surprise, but the circumstances are not ordinary. 
Our position is unusual. It is a wonderful 
thing to feel that you suddenly have the whole 
comfort and happiness of another human being 
in your hands. I feel that I should not be 
doing right if I refused the responsibility that 
has been given me. I know I shall be a help 
to him. And my children — what a benefit 
such a man will be to them as they grow up ! 
I shall go to Mrs. Robberly for part of my 
trousseau. How little we thought what this 
voyage would bring to pass. Aunt Charlotte ! ” 
But I thought I might have guessed. 


102 


IV 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 



IV 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 

“T SUPPOSE you call this cried 

I Beatrice, entering the house in a whirl 
^ of passion and petticoats. ‘‘Spending 
a whole afternoon in driving here and there, 
and leaving little cards at people's doors — " 
here she cast her parasol and card-case upon 
the floor, and the butler picked them up quite 
as if he were accustomed to it. “ What is the 
good of it all, I ask you ? Who 's any the 
better for it ? Certainly I am not." 

“You don't seem much the better for it 
just now," said her friend, following her stormy 
progress through the drawing-room and out 
on to the enclosed piazza, “ but you will be 
when you reflect that it 's not waiting to be 
done to-morrow." 

“ That 's just it. There 's always some- 
thing of that kind to be done to-morrow if 
it's not done to-day. What does it all 
amount to ^ It 's so small, and petty, and 
105 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


trifling ! If I thought I were going to lead 
the same life and see the same people and do 
the same little things for the next twenty years 
I should go mad. Tea, please, Thompson, 
here on the piazza, and ask ’Toinette if she 
has any of the cakes I like. I don't know 
the name, but she will know if you say the 
cakes Mrs. Seaton likes. Poor Thompson ! 
He looks badly, does n't he ? I wonder if we 
keep him up too late at night ! How ridicu- 
lous it is to sit up late boring one’s self when 
one might be reading something delightful or 
improving one's mind — not that I have any 
mind, I don't mean that, but " 

“I suppose Thompson has, and you are 
afraid that it will deteriorate while he is in 
your service.” 

“Well, I really think it might, you know,” 
said Beatrice, whimsically. “We don't set 
him much of an example ; always amusing 
ourselves all day long, and never doing any- 
thing for anybody.” 

“ But I thought you said you were not 
amused.” 

“ I 'm not. Jack really likes these people, 
but I can't get on with them. And I gener- 
io6 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 

ally have to sit between the two stupidest men 
at the table. The other night, at that big 
dinner you made me go to, I had old Mr. 
Pipkin on one side and Mr. Simperson on the 
other. Mr. Pipkin told me nine different 
ways of preparing prawns, one of them the 
favourite way of the Prince of Wales, and Mr. 
Simperson tallied of nothing but the women's 
dresses, and which women were rouged. I 
wished I had been rouged myself, I was so 
white with fatigue." 

You did n't look very happy," said 
Catherine, laughing. 

I suppose if there had been interesting 
people there they would not have wanted to 
talk to me," went on Beatrice, reflectively. 
“ I 've got no conversation. But it does 
seem as if the usual kind might find something 
better than the weather, and golf, and bridge, 
and what people have on, and whether they 
do things they ought n’t or not. I don't care. 
I wish they would, if it makes them happy. 
I dare say I 'd do them, too, I feel so wicked 
in my heart sometimes, only nobody would 
want to play with me, because I am so un- 
attractive. Don't say anything. I don't want 
107 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


to be contradicted. I hate compliments, and 
I hate looking like myself, too.” Here she 
made a grimace indicative of great personal 
disapproval, and began to take off her hat. 

Is my hair wild ? You would tell me, 
would n't you ? It 's foolish to care, but one 
likes to be neat. Well, I 'm not going up- 
stairs to arrange it if it is n’t. Dear little 
Catherine, your hair always looks so nice, 
and you are so good, are n’t you ? ” 

‘‘ I am a little more patient with Providence 
and people, if you mean that.” 

“ I should think you were,” said Beatrice. 
‘‘ I watched you on that awful occasion, and 
you were talking away so politely. I thought 
I should scream and kick the table over when 
we were only at soup, and I said to myself : 
‘ Now I ’ll just count three, and then I ’ll see 
what I ’ll do.’ ” 

And what did you do ? I observed no 
commotion.” 

“ Well, I made up my mind to behave 
myself by the time I got" to three, but I 
shan’t always. Some day I shall do some- 
thing dreadful. You’ll see! Why, it’s per- 
fectly ridiculous to expect a person to be 

io8 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


contented with a life like this. Oh, I know 
I Ve got a great deal to be thankful for. I Ve 
got a husband and a home I Whenever I 
complain everybody always says I Ve got a 
charming husband and a delightful house ; 
and so I have. Jack ’s a great deal nicer than 
I am, I know, and the house keeps out the 
rain, now that we Ve put a new roof on it. 
But you can’t be madly exhilarated because 
you are protected from the weather and your 
husband does not beat you, can you ? ” 

“ I suppose some people might be,” began 
Catherine, cautiously. 

“ Oh, I know. The poor creatures who 
are wretched and unhappy. I am wicked to 
complain about trifles, when so many people 
have real sorrows. You don’t know how 
awfully I feel sometimes about having things 
— nice things and comfortable things — when 
I don’t deserve them at all. I should like to 
give them away to those who need them more. 
I should, really. And it would n’t be much 
of a sacrifice, either, for I don’t think things 
mean much to me. Of course I ’ve never 
been without them, so I don’t know. But 
some women care so much for detail. Now, 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


I don’t care a bit, and I hate domestic ques- 
tions about the servants and the horses and 
the cooking. What does it matter ? I ’d 
rather go out and scrub by the day than talk 
about it.” 

I ’m afraid I like contriving and arranging 
things. But so would you if you felt that 
other people’s comfort depended upon your 
doing it,” suggested Catherine, with amiable 
intention. 

That ’s just it. People do depend on 
you. Nobody depends on me. If they did, 
I think I’d be good. -But everyone does 
things so much better than I do them. Why, 
I can’t even take care of Jack when he ’s ill. 
I don’t like men to be ill, ever, you know, 
and I go to the door and say : ‘ Don’t you 
think you are a great deal better now ? Oh, 
you must be ! ’ And when he says he is n’t, 
it makes me furious. The last time he was 
ill in town we had asked some people to dine 
and go to the theatre, and just after dinner I 
dashed upstairs and knocked at his door 
suddenly to ask how he was, and waked him 
out of a sound sleep. Then I was sorry, and 
wanted to know if there was n’t something I 
no 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


could do for him, and he said he 'd like a 
drink of water, so I took up the siphon, and 
the vichy flew all over everything. The room 
was deluged and so was Jack, and I was so 
disgusted with rr^yself that I said : ^ There ! 
you see what a fool I am ; I can't even give 
a person a glass of water. You ought never 
to have married me ! ' And I rushed away 
downstairs, leaving the door open, and poor 
Jack had to ring and ring for ages for someone 
to come and shut it." 

“ I 'm afraid Jack has his own trials," said 
Catherine, laughing. 

Beatrice turned round in her chair with a 
sudden movement that made all the tea-things 
rattle. 

Oh ! you don't think I am disagreeable 
to live with, do you ? " she asked, much 
troubled. “ I 'm not nagging or troublesome 
about little things, am I ? I don't want to be 
small. I know I 've got a bad temper. I 
always have had, and I do show it, but it 
does n't last long. I was saying to Jack only 
the other day that I had not thrown anything 
at him for ever so long. Is n't it so, Jack ? " 
as her husband entered the room. ‘‘ I have n't 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

been in a passion for months and months, 
have I ? And I do amuse you, don’t I ? I 
know I am funny even when I am angry. 
You don’t think I ’m not nice to live with, 
Catherine ? ” 

“ I think you are charming, even when 
you are in your worst tempers,” returned her 
friend, and Mr. Seaton added, in his quiet 
way,— 

“ You see my life is diversified. Miss Blair. 
Sometimes sunshiny and sometimes stormy, 
but never dull.” 

‘‘ I don’t think you are very nice to me, 
Jackj” said his wife. "Will you have some 
tea ? You had better not, because you ’ll be 
horrid if you grow fat.” 

Mr. Seaton, who was perhaps rather broad- 
shouldered for his height, but in no immediate 
danger of the awful fate pointed out to him, 
smiled as if he had heard the remark before, 
and sighed as if he knew he should often hear 
it again, and sitting down, began to open some 
letters that he had found on the table as he 
passed through the hall. 

Everything was quiet except for the faint 
rustling of the papers. 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 

Beatrice leaned her long, slim, rose-bemus- 
lined figure back in her white wicker chair and 
looked out at the ocean and the sunset. The 
sky was all gray and gold and flame, and the 
gulls were wheeling above the rocks. Every 
now and then the wind would carry a little 
breath of salt and seaweed from the beach be- 
low to the cliffs above. 

Beatrice thought of how restless she was and 
how peaceful she wanted to be ; how her life 
was made up of little efforts for little ends ; of 
how much she wanted to do things that were 
worth while, things that were noble, things that 
would help other people. If only Jack under- 
stood ! Then she looked at Jack. She won- 
dered why he had married her. She honestly 
thought her brilliant, black-lashed eyes, peach- 
tinted skin and charming, irregular features 
absolutely ugly, and was fond of shaking her 
fist at her reflection in the glass and calling 
herself you hideous young woman ! ” Neither 
had she .much respect for her mental powers, and 
as for her character — she varied between think- 
ing herself the most misunderstood and the 
least worth understanding person of her ac- 
quaintance. As for Jack, she was of opinion 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


that he took this life much too easily. She 
would have liked him to be seriously interested 
and ambitious, if not for himself, at least to 
help in the work of the world. There must 
be something one could do, thought Beatrice. 

Jack thought how comfortable a well-stuffed 
armchair seemed after a morning on the golf 
links and an afternoon in the saddle, what a 
good thing exercise was, and how well a man 
felt after a day spent in the open air. He was 
contented, healthy, happy, and pleasantly tired. 
What more did anyone want ? Life was easy, 
and fitted him like a well-worn glove. Bea- 
trice’s restless dissatisfaction was incomprehen- 
sible to him, but it was part of Beatrice, and 
therefore to be borne. He admired her very 
much, and what he did not understand he 
criticised as little as possible. In a word, he 
was a philosopher, except when he was goaded 
into the position of a patient man. He glanced 
at his wife and thought how wistful she looked, 
and then he wondered how she would take the 
news contained in the letter he had just opened. 
His aunt, Mrs. Wilhelmina Webster, an- 
nounced that she meant to come and spend a 
fortnight with them “ [if convenient] ” in 
114 




AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 

brackets. Jack guiltily remembered that he 
was going off on a cruise with a friend. 

Catherine thought of the “ little more ” it takes 
to make everybody happy and the “ little less 
with which most have to manage, and of the 
person who loved her best and was far enough 
away at the moment. 

The gold and flame faded out of the sky, and 
the servant came in to take away the tea-things. 

Mr. Seaton stretched himself with a mighty 
stretch, and Catherine wondered what time it 
was. 

“There’s a clock at your elbow, but it 
does n’t often go,” said Beatrice, coming back 
from the clouds. “ Why do you care what 
time it is It ’s so beautiful ! You can’t 
want to go and dress yet.” 

“Here’s a letter I’d like you to read, 
Beatrice,” said her husband, putting the en- 
velope on the table beside her. 

“Oh! not now. Jack. I know it’s some- 
thing horrid. The handwriting looks dread- 
fully familiar. I ’m sure it ’s from some of 
your family, saying that I ^ ought ’ to be or do 
something that I wont be or do. Don’t make 
me read it, please.” 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


She brushed the letter with her elbow, and 
it fell to the floor. 

Jack picked it up with perfect politeness and 
put it into his pocket. 

‘‘ I 'm very sorry, my dear,’’ he said. ‘‘ I ’m 
afraid you won’t like it, but Aunt Wilhelmina 
wants to come here on Thursday for a fort- 
night.” 

Like it ! ” cried Beatrice, with a wail of 
despair. “ I think it ’s the very horridest thing 
that could have happened. Oh, Jack, this is 
awful ! And I thought I should enjoy myself 
so much while you were away! Well, I shall 
just write and say that I have a bad case of 
scarlet fever.” 

“ I ’m afraid she ’d only come the faster for 
that. She rather fancies herself as a nurse.” 

“ Well, then, think of some other excuse, 
quickly,” cried his wife, stamping with impa- 
tience. “ I won’t have her. Do you think I 
must have her. Jack ? Say you don’t. She ’s 
so strait-laced and stiff that it makes me bad 
just to look at her. Can’t we write and tell 
her not to come ? I suppose you ’ll say we 
can’t. You are well out of it, at any rate. Oh, 
why do I always have to do things that I 

ii6 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


hate ? ” lamented Beatrice, with tears in her 
voice. 

Jack looked troubled and a little irritated. 

“ I ’m awfully sorry that you should be im- 
posed on, my dear,” he said, “ but it is partly 
your own fault. You asked her yourself when 
she was in town last winter.” 

But she said she was going abroad then,” 
returned his wife, much aggrieved. I never 
dreamed she ’d come — ” Then, as she saw 
he was really distressed — “ But never mind. 
Jack, I 'll be good. Poor old lady ! There 
are n't many people to whom I can give 
pleasure, and I ought to be glad that she wants 
to come. But Catherine has got to stay on 
with me. You must, Catherine. Nobody can 
want you as much as I do. She must, must n't 
she. Jack? You can't expect me to support 
Aunt Wilhelmina alone.” 

The day of that lady 's visitation was marked 
by a sweeping rain-storm, in the midst of which 
she arrived — a tall, supercilious old woman in 
black, who looked down her nose at people. 
Beatrice had sent the carriage, but when Mrs. 
Webster found it unattended save by the coach- 
man who drove it and the footman who sought 
117 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


her out, she dismissed it at once, remarking 
aloud that she did not accept the ‘‘ loan ” of 
people’s carriages. Either they came for her 
themselves or she took a cab. And a cab she 
took, and appeared, with her two modest trunks 
on the top of it, some fifteen minutes after the 
return of her niece-in-law’s discarded vehicle. 

“ I ’m so sorry you did not use the carriage,” 
said Beatrice, meeting her at the front door. 

“ I prefer to be independent, my dear,” re- 
turned Mrs. Webster, presenting a chilly cheek 
to be kissed. “ For which reason I should be 
glad if you would permit my cabman to carry 
up my trunks. He is already paid with that 
express understanding.” 

Beatrice gasped and led the way into the 
drawing-room, where Mrs. Webster followed 
her. Catherine was introduced, and asked, for 
want of something better to say, whether the 
journey had been tiresome. It seemed an 
unfortunate speech. 

I suppose all journeys are tiresome to 
unobservant young people,” remarked Aunt 
Wilhelmina. V/here is Jack, my dear 
Beatrice ? ” 

Beatrice explained that Jack had gone out 

ii8 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 

to see a man about a polo pony, but that he 
would certainly be back for luncheon. 

“ Indeed ! '' said Mrs. Webster, with a 
soundless sniff. “ In my youthful days young 
men did not treat the visit of a relative so 
cavalierly.'* 

“ Jack was exceedingly sorry to be obliged 
to go out this morning,” went on Beatrice, 
rolling horrified eyes in her friend's direction, 
“ and he feels dreadfully that he is going to 
miss the greater part of your visit, but he 
promised long ago to go off on the yacht with 
this friend of his, and he can't very well get 
out of it. Promises were rather binding even 
in your time. Aunt Wilhelmina. I remember 
you told me so when I was first engaged to 
Jack.” 

“ If you profited by all the advice given you 
on that occasion you must be an excellent wife 
by this time, my dear Beatrice,” returned her 
aunt, impenetrably. ‘‘ I am sorry Jack is to 
be away during my visit, but perhaps my 
being with you makes his mind easier.” 

“ Easier about his going ? ” said Mrs. 
Seaton. “ Well, perhaps in one way it does, 
Aunt Wilhelmina. But we both go our own 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


way, you know. Sometimes we hardly see 
each other for weeks.” She watched with 
delight the gradual stiffening of Mrs. Webster’s 
face. We never like the same things nor 
the same places. You know how it is with 
married people. I dare say you and Mr. 
Webster felt just the same. Let me show you 
your room. Aunt Wilhelmina ; you look quite 
tired suddenly.” 

Catherine, choking with suppressed laughter, 
followed them upstairs and took refuge in 
her own room. 

After a short absence Mrs. Seaton returned 
and threw herself into a chair with the air of 
one who has abandoned hope. 

‘‘Well, Jack,” she said, addressing her 
husband, who had just come in, “ your aunt 
is here. And do you know, I think she must 
have been offended that neither of us went to 
meet her, for she sent the carriage away and 
came up in a cab.” 

“ Did she ? ” returned Mr. Seaton, ab- 
stractedly. “ That ’s too bad. Do you know, 
Beatrice, the storm has blown down half of 
one of the chimneys on the south side of the 
house? ” 


120 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


“ Ohj never mind ; you can put up a new 
one, and we 'll break a bottle of champagne 
down it and christen it after Aunt Wilhel- 
mina/* said Beatrice, whose indifference to 
things domestic was perfectly unfeigned. “We 
don't need chimneys until the autumn, and we 
should n't need them then if I had my way, be- 
cause we should n't be here late enough. How 
glad I always am to get back to town ! But 
what I wanted to say. Jack, was that you ’ll 
have to be awfully nice and sweet to your aunt 
to-night. It won't be very gay for her other- 
wise, for Catherine dines out and I 've got to 
leave you directly after dinner. Do you think 
she will mind ? " 

“ Where are you going ? Oh, Thursday ! 
It 's that ridiculous Boys' Club, of course. 
Can't you give it up to-night?" 

“ I suppose it does seem ridiculous to you, 
and I know I 'm not much good at such 
things. Catherine, who 's only been once, 
has ever so much more influence than I have. 
But I 've begun it now, and I hate to stop ; 
and one evening a week is n't much to give up 
to it. It 's ever so much more amusing than 
going out to dinner and sitting between two 

I2I 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


horrid old men who talk to you about food 
and women’s dress. Dear Jack/’ patting him 
on the shoulder, “ do be nice about it, and 
make it all right with your aunt. You can 
think it just as ridiculous as you please. I 
often think things you do ridiculous ! I must 
go to-night, because I promised to stop for 
Mrs. Vandermark. She’s going to take her 
banjo and play for them. And Grifforth 
Chandos is going to talk to them. I ’m sorry 
it ’s your last night at home, but you and 
Aunt Wilhelmina can have a nice, cosy gossip 
after dinner,” concluded Beatrice, sparkling all 
over with sudden mischief. “ I ’ll leave my 
special brand of cigarettes out for her.” 

Fortunately a boys’ club presented itself in 
a perfectly seemly and becoming way to Mrs. 
Webster’s mental eyes. She regretted her 
niece’s absence, but approved the occasion of 
it. Anything one could do to improve the 
condition of the poor should be done. 

“ But we ’re only trying to amuse them a 
little,” cried Mrs. Seaton, over her shoulder, 
as she stepped into the carriage. ‘‘ Good- 
night ; don’t keep your aunt up too late. 
Jack.” 


122 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 

But apparently both Mrs. Webster and her 
nephew had been of one mind in regard to the 
advisability of an early separation, for when 
Miss Blair returned from her dinner-party at 
the comparatively early hour of half-past ten, 
the drawing-room was entirely deserted, and it 
was not until some time after she had gone up- 
stairs that she heard the voices of her host and 
hostess, who appeared to have returned to the 
house together. 

Beatrice came into her room next morning 
almost as soon as the breakfast tray, in a long 
pink dressing-gown and with very large, sleepy 
eyes. 

‘‘ Well, my dear,’* she said, “Jack’s gone. 
He just knocked at the door and said good- 
bye to me. It was the seventh knock this 
morning. Aunt Wilhelmina sent long before 
eight to know at what time I would breakfast. 
So I wrote her a little note and said I ’d had 
mine long ago, but I hoped she ’d be as lazy 
as she pleased. Won’t she be furious ! Jack ’s 
rather furious with me, too. You see, she 
went to bed early last night, and he thought 
he ’d come down to the Boys’ Club for me, 
and I did n’t know it ; so when they told me 
123 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


the carriage was there, I said it could wait. I 
was having such an interesting time ! GrifForth 
Chandos had brought a friend with him, a 
man from the West, — one of the big, broad- 
shouldered, direct-looking young men that 
Gibson draws, — and he was talking to us 
about the characteristic differences between 
Western boys and Eastern boys and what 
training was best for each ; not to me, par- 
ticularly, — he was n't introduced to me, — but 
I was listening. It was very interesting." 

“And all the time, I suppose. Jack was 
waiting." 

“ Yes. Was n't it dreadful ? But it was n't 
my fault, was it ? And it really was funny, 
Catherine, only he was n't able to see that side 
of it last night. After about half an hour he 
sent in to say that Mr. Seaton was in the car- 
riage. I thought, you know, that it had 
picked him up somewhere, — at least, I don't 
know" what I thought, I was so busy listening, 
— so I just said, ‘ Well, let it take Mr. Seaton 
home and come back for me.' So you see by 
the time I did come Jack wasn't pleased, 
naturally, and I cried all the way home because 
I said he was so cross to me." 


124 




AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


“ What had he said ? ” inquired Catherine, 
sympathetically. 

“Nothing at all,” said Beatrice; “that was 
just the trouble.” 

Catherine laughed, and Beatrice smiled a 
little. 

“Poor Jack, he is good to me,” she said. 
“ I told him this morning I *d forgive him 
if he ’d say he was sorry. So he said he was, 
and then I said I was, and would be good 
while he was away. Get up, Catherine, and 
let us take Aunt Wilhelmina to the beach to 
see all the smart bathing dresses. I 'm sure 
they did n*t wear such costumes in her youth- 
ful days.” 

Mrs. Webster was in the drawing-room 
reading the morning paper, her back very stiff, 
her head very erect, and her eye-glasses so far 
down her nose that they appeared to clip her 
very nostrils. Beatrice was very sweet with 
her, apologised for the lateness of her own 
appearance, and hoped everything had been 
done for her aunt’s comfort. Full particulars 
of Jack’s departure were given, and a short 
dissertation upon the duty of wives listened to 
with a demureness beautiful to see. 

125 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


“ Did you ever know anybody as good as I 
am ? ” she whispered to Catherine, as Mrs. 
Webster, having agreed to go out with them, 
swept from the room to put on her bonnet and 
mantle. Poor old lady, if I can’t enjoy her 
visit, it seems hard that she should not. I 
hope she does, but I shall be glad when it ’s 
over.” 

As they drove along, Aunt Wilhelmina had 
a great deal to say about the vulgarity and os- 
tentation of modern times. The houses were 
too big, the women too expensively dressed, 
the automobiles went too fast. Elegance, sim- 
plicity, refinement, and that being known as a 
great lady ” were so entirely the products of 
her own generation that it was doubtful if Bea- 
trice could even form an idea of what society 
must have been in the days when they 
flourished. 

Beatrice mildly submitted that she didn’t 
find society very interesting at present. 

Catherine says I ’m getting morbid about 
it,” she said ; and perhaps I am. I sup- 
pose I ’d like it well enough if I were awfully 
admired or if there were some particular person 
whom I cared to meet ! ” 

126 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


“ My dear Beatrice ! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Webster, as the carriage drew up, “a young 
married woman — ” 

“ Oh, I know. Aunt Wilhelmina, it 's very 
wicked to talk like that, and I ought n’t ever 
to want to speak to anyone but Jack, as you 
never wanted to speak to anyone but Mr. 
Webster. I ’m sure you never had a taste that 
your husband couldn’t share, nor wanted to 
know about anything that he could n’t tell you. 
I ’m afraid I ’m not like that, and I ’m so 
naughty that I don’t care.” 

With which revolutionary sentiment she 
guided Mrs. Webster’s reluctant feet down 
the steps to the green-roofed pavilion, from 
which many gaily dressed people were watching 
the bathers. 

The day was warm, and the beach was 
crowded. Groups of girls in flower-tinted 
dresses sat under the tents. Long lines of 
bathing-dressed boys browned in the sun. 
Shouts and little screams and gusts of laughter 
came from the ever-changing figures in the surf 
and on the rafts. Bathing-house doors banged 
as the people went in and out, and from the 
men’s side of the building could be heard the 
127 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


blows of some athletically inclined youth as he 
punched the bag/’ 

Catherine, who was going to bathe, went off 
to her house to dress, while Beatrice found a 
chair for her aunt and established her in the 
shadiest corner of the pavilion. 

Mrs. Webster gazed straight before her in 
perfect silence for a few minutes ; then she 
said, with great distinctness, — 

‘‘ Are all these people respectable, my dear ? ” 
Her niece was saved the responsibility of a 
reply by the fact that GrilForth Chandos greeted 
her at the same moment. 

“ You don’t often come here of a morning, 
Beatrice,” he said. He had known her from 
childhood and always used her Christian name. 

What brings you to-day ? Here ’s Hamlin 
feasting his anarchistic eyes on the wretched 
proportions of the youthful millionaire. By 
the way, I did n’t introduce him to you last 
night.” 

He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and 
turned him round by way of introduction. 

Beatrice found herself looking up into the 
brilliant brown eyes of the young man she had 
seen at the Boys’ Club the preceding night. 

128 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 

Had ever young man before such an intent 
expression, such a straight nose and such a 
thick crop of yellow hair, she wondered ? 

‘‘ Why does he call you anarchistic ? ” she 
asked, smiling. 

Because I happened to say, the other day, 
that these boys here — ” and he waved his 
hand toward a group of brown figures in bril- 
liantly striped jerseys — “would never make 
good citizens, they M been born into too much 
luxury, and that I should like to abolish all 
inheritance and make each one of them work 
his own way up. I *d give him only a fair 
start.” 

“ And what about the girls ? ” asked Beatrice, 
much interested. 

Had ever any woman in the world such 
sweet eyes or such a charming face, Hamlin 
wondered. 

“ Oh, I dare say it would be good for them, 
too,” he answered. “ But I ’m not dealing out 
justice this morning. I ’m just the mildest, 
most peaceable, law-abiding person under the 
sun, and by to-morrow I dare say I may be 
wishing that I had been born in a palace myself. 
Is n’t it good to be alive on a day like this ^ 
9 129 


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Only I *d rather be talking to you under the 
trees somewhere than on this burning beach/’ 

‘‘You might be cooler in the water, per- 
haps,” suggested Beatrice. She really wanted 
to talk to him, but had a nervous desire to 
make it easy for him to leave her if he pleased. 

“ Don’t despise me utterly,” he said. “ I 
hate surf-bathing. It ’s a humiliating confes- 
sion, but I do not swim well. I was brought 
up in the most inland of inland places, and I 
never did anything, in fact, but read all day 
long.” 

Beatrice nodded sympathetically. Here was 
a young man whose mind was evidently more 
to him than his muscles. 

“ If you are not going to bathe,” he added, 
“ may I stay here and talk to you ? ” 

She made a little gesture toward an empty 
chair near by. 

“ Do,” she said. “ My aunt and I are 
here only to look on, and shall be very glad 
to be talked to. Aunt Wilhelmina, Mr. 
Hamlin.” 

Mrs. Webster, withdrawing her fascinated 
eyes for one moment from the tossing figures 
in the surf, gave Mr. Hamlin a stiff bow. 

130 


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Grifforth Chandos sauntered away, murmur- 
ing something about a dip before luncheon. 

Beatrice looked at the dazzling blue water 
and wondered what she should say next ; then 
she looked at the young man, and was some- 
what embarrassed by the directness of his gaze. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said. ‘‘ I have a 
bad habit of staring at people when I am won- 
dering about them, and I Ve been wondering 
about you ever since last night.” 

“ There is nothing very extraordinary about 
me,” she returned a little uneasily, for the 
directness of his speech matched the directness 
of his look, and she did not know quite how 
to deal with it. ’m a very commonplace 
sort of person.” 

“Are you?” said Hamlin. “You don't 
look it. You look as if you were half the time 
the saddest, and half the time the merriest, 
person in the world. I beg your pardon again 
— you don't like that. You think I oughtn't 
to speak to you about yourself when I 've 
only just met you. Please forgive me. I 
would n't offend you for anything. But some- 
how, when I was watching you last night, 
you looked so out of place among all those 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

little rascals, and yet so pathetically anxious to 
do your duty by them, I could not help 
speculating about you, and I speculated so 
much that I felt as if I knew you quite well 
this morning. One reason I talked so long 
about — what was it I talked about so long ? — 
was, that for some unaccountable reason you 
seemed interested, and I wondered why.’* 

Because I thought you were in earnest,” 
said Beatrice, ‘‘ and I like to listen and to talk 
to people who are in earnest about something. 
I like, sometimes, to be interested in things 
that are different from all this.” She glanced 
over her shoulder at the pavilion, where groups 
met and dissolved, and people stood or sat, or 
lounged against the railing, talking and laughing. 

Detached sentences floated to their ears. 
“ My machine ’s a beauty.” “ He certainly 
fouled the G/ios/ at the start.” “ Did you ever 
see such hair? It’s yellower than the sun.” 
“ Her figure ’s not half-bad, but her conversa- 
tion, my dear ! ” 

Beatrice looked at Hamlin and smiled. 

You did n’t talk like that,” she said. 

‘‘ Oh, I ’ve just got the habit of making 
speeches about theories,” he said. “ You 
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must n*t think I ’m serious except in spots. 
But there ’s quite enough to be earnest about, 
of course, only, don*t let ’s be earnest to-day, 
shall we ? But yes, of course we shall, if you 
like.” 

Beatrice disclaimed any grave conversational 
intentions. She had meant only that at times 
one got tired of gossip and chatter, — not that 
she was capable of anything much better, she 
did n't mean that, only she knew how much 
better things there were to be capable of, — 
and presently she found herself unfolding 
certain cherished theories she had in her mind 
for helping people. To help people, to be of 
use to somebody ; that particular want in 
Beatrice’s nature kept peeping out through all 
the emphatic likes and dislikes expressed in 
her sentences. And her schemes were always 
for the worst boys, the most wretched women, 
the most unprofitable servants ; whereas 
Hamlin’s unpitying philosophy contemned 
all incompetence to the devil, and only cleared 
the way of chance to those whose footsteps 
sounded success. The big clock over the 
bathing-house pointed to the hour of one 
before she rose to go home. The young man 

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followed her slowly as she and her aunt walked 
up the path, constantly stopping to exchange 
a word with this or that acquaintance. 

‘‘Who is that young woman coming out? 
and, indeed, she ought never to have gone into 
the water,'' said Mrs. Webster, indicating an 
over-developed figure in a purple tunic (such 
as one sees in the pictures of French bathing 
beaches), long, full trousers coming halfway 
down the leg, and white sandals, with crossed 
fastenings over the instep. The flaming red 
hair of the lady in question would have at- 
tracted the attention of a blind man. 

“ That 's Mrs. Merrythought," answered 
Beatrice, with a little shudder of disgust. 
“ She 's a horrid woman. She ran away from 
her husband, who was a bishop, and married 

an actor, a mere boy. She " 

“A divorced woman ! " cried Mrs. Webster. 
“ My dear, let us go on quickly. In my day 
such things were not tolerated. Such people 
were not seen or known. It is unpleasant to 
me to be in the same place with her." 

“ I don't think her being divorced is dread- 
ful," said Beatrice. “ I don’t see why two 
people who don't get on together should have 
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to stay together all their lives. But she ’s just 
horrid herself, Aunt Wilhelmina.” 

“ It was all in the papers, I remember,” 
said Mrs. Webster. “ I wondered at the time 
how I should act if I were ever brought face 
to face with such a creature. I wish I had 
not left my lorgnettes at home, my dear. Do 
you think I might borrow a pair from any- 
body? I should really like to see what that 
person looks like.” 

But unfortunately the flaming-haired lady 
disappeared into her bathing-house, and Mrs. 
Webster’s curiosity remained unsatisfied. 

Catherine joined them at this moment, and 
Beatrice, falling behind a little in the narrow 
path, found herself addressed by Hamlin. 

“ May I come to see you, please ? ” he said, 
in his direct way. I don’t know whether I 
ought to ask, or whether I ought to wait till 
you signify that such is your pleasure. But 
it ’s perfectly safe for me to say I should be 
awfully glad if it were your pleasure — and 
I suppose I ought to add, your aunt’s — 
soon.” 

“We are always at home late in the after- 
noon,” she answered conventionally, “ and I 

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shall be very glad if you will come,” she 
added more cordially. 

To-morrow, then,” he said, helping her 
into the carriage, and thinking he had never 
seen such a multiplicity of lace frills or such 
dear little pointed shoes in all his life before. 

“To-morrow afternoon? Urn afraid we 
promised to go to polo, but the day after — 
that 's Sunday — if you like.” 

“The day after,” he echoed, stepping back 
as the carriage started, “ I shall certainly 
come.” 

Mrs. Seaton was rather silent on the drive 
home. 

She was more difficult to suit than usual 
about her hats when she came to dress for 
polo the next day. One was on the bed, one 
— rather battered — on the floor, and she was 
just removing another from her head when 
Catherine came on the scene. 

“ There you are, all ready and exactly on 
time, dear little Catherine,” she said. “ Did 
you ever see such a fright as I am ? ” — 
making a hideous grimace at herself. “ I 
should think Marie would be discouraged, for 
no matter how much pains she takes, I always 
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look just the same, only sometimes worse. 
I 'm so sorry I tore the lace bow on that 
toque 1 Poor Marie ! stroking her maid’s 
cheek with the tip of a slender forefinger, 
“ don’t mend it to-day. It does n’t matter 
when it ’s mended. I ’ll mend it. I like 
your hat, Catherine.” 

“ You always like other people’s things 
better than your own, dear,” said Catherine, 
laughing. “ Any one of yours is prettier than 
mine, really.” 

“ Do you think so ? Oh, I wish you ’d 
take one, or all of them,” cried Beatrice, turn- 
ing round from the glass. “ If you knew how 
much pleasure it would give me to see you in 
them ! ” And indeed she would gladly have 
given away anything she had to anybody who 
wanted it, and never have thought a second 
time about it, in her generous heart. 

“ If Madame would try the hat with the 
rose wreath once more,” pleaded the maid. 

And Madame, remarking that it did not 
make any difference what a person like herself 
had on if she were only neat and fresh, 
crowned herself with the rose-wreathed hat 
and departed. 


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It seemed to meet with the approval of one 
long-limbed, lean, broad-shouldered young 
giant named Hamlin, for he hardly took his 
eyes off its wearer all the afternoon. 

Beatrice was beginning to find that there 
was some pleasure in going out when there 
was somebody you cared to meet ” or who 
appeared to care about meeting you. 

She and Catherine had been sitting in the 
victoria watching the polo ; at least, Catherine 
had been watching, and Beatrice had been 
conscious that mallets were clashing, men were 
shouting, and ponies’ quick little feet thudding 
in her immediate vicinity. Sometimes a bell 
clanged, and always the breeze blew and the 
sun shone. There was a feeling of excitement 
and holiday-making in the air, and a gay sound 
of light voices and laughter. 

Hamlin had been standing talking to her, 
with his foot on the step of the carriage. 
They had not plunged very deeply into the 
affairs of the universe that day. They had 
been discussing things of a more personal 
nature. He had been half-regretting the un- 
sporting character of his education, — that was, 
if she thought all men ought to do that sort 
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of thing well, — but even at college he had 
been an incorrigible reader ; he had n’t cared 
for rowing or football, though they used to 
come and badger him about it every year. 
He had not ever made friends very easily, and 
he supposed that was a bad sign. 

Beatrice hoped it was n’t, for she had not 
made many friends among girls of her own 
age when she was young. Hamlin smiled at 
the expression. She had had rather a sad 
childhood, and her grandmother, who had 
brought her up from her early orphaned days, 
had not thought the companionship of other 
children necessary for her happiness. So she 
had been a lonely child, and, she was afraid, 
rather a bad child, — at least, her governess 
had said so, — and everybody had always told 
her how ugly and unattractive she was, so that 
when she first grew up she was astonished 
that people liked her. Then she stopped 
suddenly, blushing and confused, surprised to 
find how much she had said, and fearing that 
he would think it necessary to contradict her. 

But he did not. It never occurred to him 
that this slender, sweet-voiced, brilliant-eyed, 
gracious lady could have suffered under such 

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astonishment long. But he felt that her little- 
girlhood, from which, in spite of her gentle, 
assured manner, she hardly seemed to him to 
have emerged, must have been pathetic in its, 
way. 

‘^And you had nobody but your grand- 
mother and the governess ? he said. 

“Nobody,'' she answered; “and then my 
grandmother died, and I went abroad with my 
governess, and travelled." 

And now you 've come home and are 
living with your aunt, are n't you ? " he went 
on as she paused. “ That was your aunt who 
was with you the other day, was n't it ? " 

She looked up in surprise. Was it possible 
he did n't know she was married ? Before she 
could speak, a group of laughing people — a 
rosy, yellow-haired girl and three or four men 
— stopped close to the carriage. The girl's 
ridiculous little shoe had come unlaced, and 
there was a humorous controversy going on 
among the men as to who should tie it. She 
put her foot on the wheel of the victoria, smil- 
ing at Beatrice, whom she knew. 

“You are tying it with a tru e-lovers' knot, 
Bertie," she said to the successful candidate, 
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and Um a married lady, so it is n’t proper. 
I shall tell my husband.” 

Hamlin also smiled at Beatrice. 

‘‘ I ’m glad you are not a married lady,” he 
said. “ The idea of that child’s having a hus- 
band ! There ought to be a course of ‘ married 
life ’ in the last term of every boarding-school 
year, to teach women what a serious thing it is 
they go into so lightly.” 

So he did not know ! Beatrice wondered 
how it could possibly have happened, and what 
to say. It was so awkward to blurt out, I 
am married ! ” and it was rather fun, in a way, 
his not knowing. But then it was a thing he 
must soon find out. Someone might address 
her by her married name within the next few 
minutes. It would be foolish not to tell him. 
Catherine and Grifforth Chandos, who had just 
appeared, were clamouring to be taken to the 
big red-and-yellow striped tent for tea, and 
Beatrice, as she followed her friend’s dragging 
lilac flounces over the grass, resolved to make 
her announcement at once. But Hamlin was 
a few paces behind, having stopped to pick 
up a little wisp of a handkerchief and an 
enormous pink parasol which she had dropped 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


in getting out of the carriage, and before he 
could join her, a middle-sized, elderly lady, 
with layers of rustling silk flounces and a hat 
full of peacock feathers, had borne down upon 
them. 

My dear,’’ said this lady, who was known 
as Mrs. General Sentinel, ‘‘ you are the very 
person I want to see. I ’ve just taken a cook 
on trial, who says he used to live with your 
grandmother. I remember his dinners were 
excellent, but what I wanted to ask was — is 
the man extravagant.^ You really have no 
idea how extravagant people’s cooks are in this 
place. Mrs. Condor’s bill at the butcher’s last 
month was something enormous. I won’t 
mention the figures, but I happened to be at 
the telephone when she was remonstrating with 
Mr. Jointz, and I was surprised myself. He 
swore she had had every single item on it, and 
indeed, he said the same thing to me the next 
day when I spoke to him about it. Do you 
find Jointz very expensive, as butchers go ? ” 

I don’t fret very much about the bills, 
Mrs. Sentinel,” returned Beatrice, demurely. 
“ I suppose it would be better if I did, but I 
hate so to think about food. I ’d have chops 
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and mashed potatoes every day if I could. 
’Toinette is very good and economical, and I 
leave it all to her. I don’t remember about 
the cook you ’ve taken. Don’t you hate 
people who ^ live well ’ and have ‘ well-trained 
servants ’ ? ” 

“ I ’m afraid I don’t agree with you,” said 
Mrs. Sentinel, with rather a sniff, which the 
natural uplifting of her sharp little, middle- 
aged nose greatly emphasised. like to be 

well served, and I prefer good food to bad. I 
even prefer to go to houses that are well run. 
I like to see how people live.” 

Beatrice’s thick black lashes lifted just enough 
to send a mischievous glance at Catherine. 

“ I ’m afraid my house is n’t well run,” she 
said. I don’t take half enough interest. I 
like pictures, and books, and beautiful things 
to put into it, but as long as the servants are 
contented, and no one particularly objects to 
anything, I don’t much care how I live.” 

“ Then you can’t tell me about the cook, 
evidently. Well, I ’ll try him. By the way, 
perhaps you would do me a favour and come 
and fill a place for me at dinner to-night ? ” 

‘‘To-night — what are we doing to-night, 
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Catherine?” demanded Beatrice, affrighted, 
grasping her friend’s arm. 

“ Is n’t it the McMasters’ moonlight pic- 
nic ? ” returned Catherine, promptly. 

“ Not to-night,” said Mrs. Sentinel. I 
know, for my maid has a brother who is their 
footman, and he always tells her when they en- 
tertain. Besides, the McMasters are coming 
to me to-night. They say he has given her 
some superb new emeralds, and I want to see 
them. I was in hopes she ’d wear them at the 
ball, but I suppose she could n’t, with that 
yellow dress. Did you happen to notice 
whether there was embroidery or applique on 
that gown ? Really, I could not tell without 
touching it. Well, good-bye. I shall hope 
to see you to-night. Mr. Chandos is coming. 
And he has promised to bring you, you know, 
Mr. Hamlin,” nodding to the latter. Eight 
o’clock, my dear,” to Beatrice ; ‘‘ don’t forget.” 

I ’m awfully sorry — ” began Mrs. Seaton. 
Catherine gave her a mischievously good- 
natured little pinch. 

“ Go,” she said, “ and amuse yourself for 
once. I ’ll take excellent care of Mrs. Webster. 
She ’ll go, with pleasure, Mrs. Sentinel.” 

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Beatrice looked somewhat bewildered, but in 
her heart she began to think that “ it would be 
easier to tell him at the dinner/* 

She was a little troublesome about dressing 
again that evening, and discarded a flowered 
silk and a peach-pink brocade for a yellow lace 
frock, in which she looked like a very distin- 
guished, tall little girl. She was n’t going to 
put on long trains and heavy jewelry only fit 
for Winter. She hated ball dresses ** for 
small dinners in Summer. It was very bad 
taste. It was very vulgar. She hoped Cath- 
erine would n’t think her too selfish for going 
out and leaving her alone with Aunt Wilhel- 
mina. She hadn’t known just what to say. 
She was always getting into scrapes because she 
could n’t say “ No.” 

Catherine laughed at her. 

You were going to say ^No.’ I accepted 
for you. Go out and have your vanity flattered 
a little. It will do you good. What you 
want is a tonic for your self-esteem.” 

It was a foggy night, and the lamps in the 
roads and the lights of the automobiles cast 
great fan-shaped shadows through the gray mist, 
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The whole world seemed to be shut into a long 
alley-way full of rolling wheels and ringing bells. 
Beatrice thought she should never turn into 
the gate of the Sentinels’ place. She was late, 
as usual. That was because Marie would put 
a rose in her hair at the last minute. It felt 
very wobbly. 

Mr. Hamlin was to take her in to dinner. As 
soon as she looked at him she saw that he knew. 

I ’m to have the pleasure of taking you in, 
Mrs. Seaton,” he said ceremoniously, and they 
walked the length of the room in perfect silence. 

‘‘ Why did n’t you tell me ” he asked, as 
they took their places. 

‘‘ I never imagined you did n’t know until 
this afternoon,” she said, ‘‘and I was inter- 
rupted just as I was going to tell you. How 
was it you did n’t, I wonder ? You were stay- 
ing with people who knew me very well. Not 
that it makes much difference, does it? Only 
it ’s rather funny.” 

“Yes,” he answered, without smiling; “it is 
rather funny.” 

“ Perhaps you don’t like to talk to old 
married ladies,” she went on, laughing. “ Are 
you as young as that ? ” 

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“No, I ’m not as young as that, I ’m afraid/' 
he returned, smiling a little this time. “ It 's 
only — don't you see ? — that ever since I met 
you I 've been thinking about you ; and ever 
since I 've been thinking about you, I have 
thought of you as unmarried. It 's a bit of a 
shock. I suppose I might have known." 

“ It is rather odd that you did n't hear any- 
body speak of me or to me by my married 
name." 

“ The Chandoses call you Beatrice," he 
said, “when they speak of you, and I would 
not ask them any questions. I don't know 
why. At least, I do know, but it would not 
interest you. And it so happens that no one 
has called you Mrs. Seaton before me until 
to-night, when Mrs. Sentinel told me I was to 
take ‘ Mrs. Seaton ' in to dinner, and then 
spoke of my having been with you this after- 
noon. Then I knew." 

“ And you did n't like my not having told 
you ? " 

“ I did n't mind your not having told me. 
I just hated the fact." 

Beatrice gazed at him for a moment with 
her great eyes open to their fullest extent. 

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He pulled himself together. If he showed 
her what he was feeling she might be 
offended. She might even think it necessary 
to forbid him to come to see her. At least, 
she might change in some way her attitude 
toward him, and he could not bear that. 

“ I disapprove of marriage in theory,” he 
said gravely. I think it 's an interference with 
people’s freedom, and everybody should be 
free.” 

A theory ! Beatrice was relieved of all em- 
barrassment. There was nothing wrong in 
discussing any sort of a theory, and the diffi- 
culties of married life were so thoroughly dis- 
cussed that by the time dessert appeared they 
had come to the most revolutionary conclu- 
sions. Beatrice was interested and amused, 
and Hamlin more in love than ever. He 
rather imagined that her husband did not un- 
derstand her. What mere husband could ? 

It was a delightful dinner, Beatrice told 
Catherine, who came in to see her on her 
return. Mr. Hamlin had taken her in ; he had 
also talked to her after dinner, and he was 
coming to see her the next afternoon. He 
was the most interesting person she had met 
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for a long time, and really a nice boy. He 
had such sensible views. It was so pleasant 
to discuss things with him ! 

“ And I really think he likes me, Catherine. 
I don't mean muchy you know. I dare say it 
was just because he wanted to talk, and I was 
the nearest woman. But still, I think he 
likes me." 

It certainly appeared so the next day, when 
he arrived at four o'clock and stayed until 
half-past six. 

Mrs. Webster's sense of propriety was out- 
raged. In her day, she said, young men did 
not pay visits of such length to young married 
women. Neither did she approve of being 

at home " on Sunday. Sunday was a day 
of meditation. 

Mrs. Seaton disclaimed any desire to inter- 
fere with her aunt's meditations, and begged 
that she would not permit her usual habits to 
be broken into by any modern custom of 
which she disapproved. Tea could be sent to 
her room on Sunday if she preferred it. 

Further controversy was diverted by the 
arrival of a telegram which recalled Catherine 
to town on the following day. 

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Beatrice was in despair. What should she 
do without her? She knew she should be 
naughty. Aunt Wilhelmina was so trying, 
and she was sure they would not be on speak- 
ing terms by the time Jack came home. 

“ I want to tell her how ‘ narrow ’ she is 
every time I see her, and I know it will come 
out sooner or later. And so stiff in her back- 
bone ! Just as if she had a poker down the 
middle seam of her dress,” and she walked up 
and down the room in exact imitation of Mrs. 
Webster, who had just gone upstairs. I 
often tell Jack that if I had known about her 
I should not have married him. Poor Jack ! 
I hope he's enjoying himself He's written 
to me only once, to say he hoped the chimney 
was up all right and that I was n't having a 
bad time, and I have n't answered yet, just so 
that I could tell Aunt Wilhelmina I had not 
written at all to him, if she asked me. She 's 
always prying into my relations with Jack. I 
wish Mr. Webster were alive, so that I coaid 
retaliate. Oh, Catherine, don't go and leave 
me ! I don't know what I shall do without 
you ! ” 

But Miss Blair was obliged to go, and Mrs. 

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Seaton, with many lamentations, saw her off 
by the afternoon train the next day. 

Matters did not improve after her departure. 
Hamlin dined at the house that very evening, 
his own hosts being all engaged elsewhere, 
and Grilforth Chandos having laughingly 
informed Mrs. Seaton of the fact. 

Aunt Wilhelmina was in her most lofty 
humour, and made herself so superciliously 
exasperating that she drove Beatrice to do 
what she had protested against doing all 
Summer, — going to an enormous ball which 
was in progress that night at one of the largest 
and most beautiful houses in the neighbour- 
hood. Hamlin, whom she took down in the 
carriage with her, on purpose to defy Mrs. 
Webster's stony glare of opposition, thought 
he had never seen her look so charming. 

Her cheeks were scarlet, and her eyes, under 
their thick lashes, as brilliant as polished 
jewels. There were many women at the ball 
prettier, handsomer, more beautiful than she, 
but none, he was quite sure, with the same air 
of delicate distinction. His tall, slender, rose- 
pink-petalled lady ! He wondered that every 
eye in the room did not follow where she 

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moved. His eyes did, and so did he, when- 
ever he could. He did not dance, but stood 
against the wall watching her. He took her 
to supper, and they sat at a little table near the 
white stone balcony of the piazza, with palms 
rustling above their heads and the sea sounding 
out of the darkness at their feet, until long 
after the dancing had begun again. She 
seemed more interested and more gracious 
even than usual, as if she wanted to make up 
to him for the constraint and discomfort of the 
earlier part of the evening. But Hamlin had 
not minded, had hardly noticed, Mrs. Web- 
ster’s attitude. He was beginning not to 
mind anything so long as he could look at, 
talk to, and be with Beatrice. And surely it 
could make no difference to her if he never let 
her know what was in his heart. 

He felt, though, that he had put as much 
restraint upon that organ as it was capable of 
enduring for one evening, and therefore obliged 
himself to refuse when, in her sweet, natural 
way, she offered to drive him as far on his 
homeward road as she was going, and he did 
not stand looking after her for more than five 
minutes after she had gone. 

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But the two following days found him ring- 
ing her front door bell at the earliest afternoon 
hour permitted by etiquette, and on both oc- 
casions they sat on the enclosed piazza and 
talked until the sun went down and a little 
crescent moon floated on a wisp of cloud over 
the water. Of people and nations and lan- 
guages they talked, and why the new times 
should be better than the old ; and twice Mrs. 
Webster, returning very late from a long drive 
with a friend, heard Hamlin’s voice as she 
crossed the hall, and entered the room just in 
time to see him kiss Beatrice’s hand as he said 
good-bye. 

‘‘ My dear,” she said, on the second occa- 
sion, “ what is that young man’s occupation ? ” 

“ I really don’t know,” answered her niece, 
dreamily. “ Why ? ” 

Because, in my opinion, the sooner he 
resumes his vocation, the better. He comes 
here too often.” 

“ I don’t agree with you,” said Beatrice. 

You saw him on Friday at the beach,” 
continued her aunt. “You saw him on Satur- 
day afternoon at polo. Mrs. Sentinel tells me 
that he never left your side the night you 

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dined with her. He spent all Sunday after- 
noon here. He dined here on Monday and 
went to the ball with you ; he came yesterday ; 

he was here again to-day ” 

‘‘ And he may also be here to-morrow/* 
cried Beatrice, highly incensed. Do not let 
us discuss it, Aunt Wilhelmina. I am not a 
child, you know, and in the matter of whom I 
see, I must judge for myself entirely, if you 
please.** 

‘‘Your conduct will give rise to gossip,** 
said Mrs. Webster, “ and that no young mar- 
ried woman can afford.** 

“ Gossip ! ** interrupted Beatrice. “ Why 
should there be gossip ? What is there to 
gossip about? It *s rather hard if I may not 
have a friend without all this fuss.** 

“ Such friendships are dangerous.** 

“ Perhaps they were in your time. Aunt 
Wilhelmina, but really, we are not so much on 
the lookout for evil now. I don*t see why 
you should assume that I am horrid just be- 
cause I *m neither a prude nor a saint. But 
whatever you assume, I am not going to give 
up seeing Mr. Hamlin. He’s the only person 
I have had any pleasure in talking to for ever 
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so long. Nobody else seems to be interested 
in the things that interest me. I shall see him 
as often as possible for the rest of my life.” 

Dinner was not a particularly agreeable meal 
that evening. Mrs. Webster looked down her 
nose and never spoke except in answer to a 
direct question. Mrs. Seaton was still exasper- 
ated and would not conciliate her. Never was 
bedtime more welcome to the two ladies. 

Hamlin and Beatrice went bicycling the 
next afternoon, and Mrs. Webster watched 
them from the window with an inscrutable, 
stony look. 

“ I wonder whether I shall ever have such a 
pleasant week again,” said the young man, as 
they dismounted at the door on their return. 

“ Of course you will,” said Mrs. Seaton, 
gaily. “ Your holiday is n’t over yet, and 
then, you know, some day we are to go abroad 
together, — you said you ’d come the next time 
Jack and I went, — and we ’ll go back to Italy, 
and I ’ll show you some of the beautiful things 
you did n’t see before.” 

‘‘ And I ’ll show you a priest-driven, soldier- 
ridden, overtaxed people, who plod through 
their lives like beasts of burden. It made my 
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blood boil to travel through Italy, — just to 
see the look in the people’s faces.” 

And I ’m so selfish,” cried Beatrice ; “ I 
never saw anything of all that. I was only 
looking for the beautiful things.” 

“As you always will, my sweet lady,” he 
answered. “ I beg your pardon. No, I think 
I ’d better not go abroad with you. I must 
stay at home and work, you know. Some 
day, perhaps, I shall amount to something. I 
should like you to be proud of having known 
me but I don’t suppose anything so marvellous 
as that could ever happen. It ’s ridiculous.” 

“ It is not ridiculous at all. Why should n’t 
you make something worth while of your life P 
Only you ’re not going to set about it just 
to-day, are you ? ” 

He gave a curious little laugh. 

“ I don’t know that,” he said. “ One can’t 
tell what is coming to meet one from behind 
the next corner. Ah, well, whatever it is, 
good-bye for to-day. You can’t know how I 
have liked being with you. Liked ! What 
an absurd word ! ‘ Liked being with you.’ 

But I ’m afraid to express it in any other way 
for fear of offending you. Good-bye.” 

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Beatrice walked slowly up the steps, through 
the hall and out on to the enclosed piazza. 
She dropped her little white gloves and her 
veil as she passed, and the butler picked them 
up and put them on the table as usual. 

“Tea, please, Thompson,*’ she said, “ here 
on the piazza ; and ask Mrs. Webster if she 
feels like coming down.” 

But Mrs. Webster was already there, seated 
in the straightest-backed chair the place 
afforded. She exchanged commonplaces with 
her niece while the tea-table was being brought 
and the tray set upon it, but after the servant 
had gone she put down her cup and saucer, 
cleared her throat once a little nervously, and 
said, — 

“ I think you may expect Jack home this 
evening, Beatrice. I telegraphed to him 
yesterday.” 

Beatrice’s hand shook so with sudden pas- 
sion that she had to put her own cup down to 
prevent its falling on the floor. 

“You telegraphed to him!” she cried. 
“ And for what reason ? But I need not ask. 
You think unwarrantable things. Aunt Wilhel- 
mina, and you take unwarrantable liberties. 

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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


You must have a horrid mind. How did you 
dare do such a thing ? ” 

She rose from the table as she spoke and 
approached Mrs. Webster. She shivered so 
with anger that she could hardly stand. She 
felt absolutely sick with rage and disgust. 

“ I have nothing to say to you,’’ she went 
on, except that you will have to explain to 
Jack yourself why you sent for him, and what 
you think of his wife. Whatever comes of 
this, you will be responsible. I shall go to 
town to-night.” 

She rang the bell. 

Telephone to the stable that I shall want 
the carriage at eight o’clock to take me out,” 
she said to the footman, ‘‘ and tell Thompson 
that Mrs. Webster is dining alone. I shall 
not dine at home.” 

Upstairs in her room she walked up and 
down in blind fury, pushing the chairs out 
of her way to make a clear space for her 
passionate steps. All her feelings were out- 
raged, — her pride, her dignity, her self-esteem. 
Seen through this horrible old woman’s eyes, 
the idyl of the last few days became the plot 
of any vulgar modern novel. 

158 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


And Jack had been sent for ! Jack, who 
would n’t understand it, or her, or anything 
but that he ought, in future, always to stay at 
home and look after her ! Probably Aunt 
Wilhelmina would make him see that he ought 
never to leave her alone again. Never in all 
her life ! She must be watched. She felt 
already like a rat in a trap. It was intolerable. 
She could not rest till she was safely started. 
She would go to her house in town and make 
what terms she pleased from there. Did Aunt 
Wilhelmina really think she was going to stay 
here, like a child, to be scolded and punished ? 

The housemaid came to light the lamps, 
and Mrs. Seaton smoothed her hair and man- 
aged to compose her quivering face. As 
calmly as she could she changed her dress and 
tried to think what things should be put into 
her bag. Very little was necessary, for she 
always left half her wardrobe in town. It 
would have been a comfort to her in many 
ways to have had her maid with her, but Marie 
had been given permission to go to a ball that 
night, and Beatrice was always considerate 
about her servants. 

She tried to eat the sandwich and drink the 
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sherry that the housemaid had brought her, 
and then, finding that every mouthful choked 
her, hurried downstairs. Mrs. Webster, with 
a set, white face, was waiting for her in the 
hall, but Beatrice dashed past her and flung 
herself into the carriage. 

It was Thursday night, and the footman 
asked if they should drive to the Boys' Club, 
and seemed surprised when she said, ‘‘To the 
boat.” It was late. Suppose they should 
miss it. She could n't get away that night. 
She put her head out of the window and asked 
if they could n't drive a little faster. But 
when they reached the dock it appeared that 
there had been some delay. She had a quarter 
of an hour to wait. 

As she turned away from the ticket office 
she came face to face with Hamlin. His face 
flushed as their eyes met, and hers turned 
pale. 

“You here!” she stammered. “Why, 
where are you going ? I mean — I beg your 
pardon — I was surprised to see you. I should 
not have asked like that.” 

“ You shall always ask me what you please, 
my lady,” he said, “ and I 'll tell you. I 'll 

i6o 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


make a clean breast of it. I meant to do it 
this afternoon. I *m running away.” 

He half smiled as he spoke, but his eyes 
looked very stern. 

“ Running away ! ” echoed Beatrice, still 
confused by the sudden meeting. “ So am I. 
Something has happened that makes it impos- 
sible for me to stay. I ’m going to town.” 

To-night ? By this boat ? ” 

“Yes, to-night, by this boat.” 

Hamlin shrugged his shoulders. “ It ’s on 
the knees of the gods,” he said. “ I did my 
best.” Then he turned to her with a great 
delight in his eyes. “ Sweet of my heart, 
did n’t you know I was running away from 
you ? Did n’t you guess that I could not stay 
without telling you I loved you, as I tell you 
now ? Only I can never tell you how much. 
Not in all my whole life. You don’t know 
what you are to me ; you don’t know what 
ambition you put into me. Don’t look like 
that! Surely you guessed.” 

She moved away from him and went and sat 
down in a corner of the small waiting-room. 
He followed. There were very few people 
about, and except for the footman standing 

II i6i 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

near the door with her dressing-bag, nobody to 
whom she was known. 

‘‘ Are you angry ? You can’t be angry. 
Oh, if you could only know how I feel ! Nobody 
could be more afraid to offend you. Nobody 
could love you better, nobody — it sounds con- 
ceited, but I think it ’s true — could understand 
you better. You say something has happened 
at home that makes it impossible for you to 
go back. Don’t go back. Don’t ever go back. 
I beg your pardon ; I ’m mad to speak like that. 
But I ’ve kept it to myself for so long, and 
I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

Beatrice’s head swam. The lights were 
blurred for a minute and Hamlin’s voice 
sounded from a great way off. She could n’t 
think. She was confused. She had been 
through such a storm of anger, and now this 
other storm was sweeping her off her feet. 
One thing only seemed certain. She could not 
go home ; she must go on to town that night 
and think it out there. 

You said the future was on the knees of 
the gods,” she said. “ I can’t think. I don’t 
know what to say to you. It suddenly seems 
to me that perhaps I was running away from 
162 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 

you, too. I thought I was angry with — with 
somebody else.** She got up and walked 
slowly across the floor. 

‘‘You are not going back?** said Hamlin, 
hoarsely. 

She looked up at him with vague eyes. 
“ No,** she said, “ I *m going to town to-night 
as I intended.** 

She took her dressing-bag from the footman, 
got out a pencil, and wrote on a piece of paper : 

“ I am going to town to-night. Mr. Hamlin 
is going up in the same boat. I do not know 
whether I shall come back to you or not. — 
Beatrice.** 

This she folded and sealed with a foreign 
stamp she found in her purse. Then she di- 
rected it to her husband, and gave it to the man 
as she dismissed him. She felt like a woman 
in a dream as she walked over the gangplank 
on to the boat with Hamlin, and she looked 
so white that he was frightened. 

He thought she was faint, and hurried her 
to a chair, saying, — 

“You look so pale, sweetheart. You must 
let me get you something. I *ve a flask some- 
where in one of my bags. You will be really 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


ill. Stay here one moment and I 'll get it for 
you." 

As he left her, it dimly came back to her 
mind that this had happened before. When 
she started on her wedding trip with Jack she 
had been awfully tired, and he had dashed off 
to get her his man's infallible remedy in just 
the same impulsive way. It seemed so domes- 
tic. A woman may have a friend, or even a 
lover — but she cannot be domestic with two 
men. Consciousness of her position and a 
sudden courage returned to her. What was 
she doing ? — she who had resented so fiercely 
Aunt Wilhelmina's insulting thought? She 
was a horrid woman, then. She must be, or 
Hamlin would never have said what he had to 
her. But he did mean it; surely he really 
loved her? Then she was ruining his life at 
the very beginning, and Jack's at the middle, 
and her own altogether. She must be a wicked 
woman, a horrible woman, as bad as Mrs. 
Merrythought. She saw Hamlin coming back, 
threading his way among the passengers to the 
dark corner where he had left her seated, and a 
sudden revulsion of feeling made her almost 
hate him. She started to her feet. 

164 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


“ I must go,” she said ; “ I must get off the 
boat. Don't — please don't try to stop me. 
Don’t argue with me. I will write to you. 
I have been a fool. I 've been selfish and 
only thought of my own amusement and 
pleasure and interest. I will not spoil 
anybody's life — not my husband's, nor 
yours, nor my own. Yes, yes, I believe 
you love me, but if you understand me, let 
me go.'' 

He stood still and looked down at her for 
an instant. 

‘‘ Go, then,'' he said. I would not have 
you do anything that you do not wish to do. 
But go very quickly, my sweet little lady, for 
God knows it 's hard to let you.'' 

He turned away, and she sprang across the 
gangplank and disappeared. The carriage had 
gone, of course, but she easily found a cab, and 
told the man to drive as fast as possible to her 
house. If only she might get there before 
Jack got her letter! She was as eager to re- 
turn as she had been to escape. Suppose he 
would not take her back ! Suppose, when she 
got there, he would not let her come in 1 She 
was n’t sure but that he might consider the 
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letter enough cause for separation, if not for 
divorce. Then she would be exactly like 
Mrs. Merrythought, with the flaming hair — 
no better. She remembered what she had said 
to Catherine, that some day she should do 
something dreadful. Well, now she had done 
it. Poor Jack ! How sorry and angry he 
would be ! What should she say to him first ? 
But perhaps he would drive her away before 
she could speak. Of course he would, if he 
had got her letter. Well, she had brought it 
on her own head, and must endure it. Only 
she wished she could have told him — ex- 
plained it to him — now that she meant to be 
good. Very likely he would never understand. 

The cab stopped at the door. It was a little 
open ; doubtless one of the men had slipped 
out to do a little ‘‘general courting.” She 
paid and dismissed the cabman and stole 
through the hall and into the drawing-room. 

Jack was sitting in an easy-chair on one side 
of the fireplace ; his head was thrown back and 
his eyes were shut, but he was not asleep, for 
the fingers of the hand on his knee clenched 
and unclenched themselves as she watched him. 
She swallowed once or twice. 

i66 


AN UNFINISHED ELOPEMENT 


“ Jack,” she said breathlessly, “ I Ve come 
home.” 

He started up. 

‘‘ You are early to-night,” he said. “ The 
Boys* Club must have been less obstreperous 
than usual this week.’* 

Beatrice stared at him ; her eyes looked 
enormous in her white face. 

“ Have you seen Aunt Wilhelmina ? ” she 
asked. 

‘‘No,” he said. “They told me she had 
gone to bed with a bad headache. I supposed, 
from the telegram she sent me, that she was at 
the last gasp and wanted me to witness her will. 
But I was coming back, anyhow.” 

“ Did n’t William give you a note ? ” asked 
Beatrice, with dry lips that could hardly form 
the words, “a note from me explaining ” 

“About where you had gone?” said Jack. 
“ Why, he did say something about a note that 
you had given him, which had blown out of 
his hand on the way up, and confounded him- 
self in excuses. But it was all right. I knew. 
Isn’t this Thursday? You look tired, my 
dear. Go to bed and to sleep as soon as 
possible.” 


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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


He kissed her gently, and she turned and 
went to the door. 

‘‘ I shall have a great deal to tell you to- 
morrow, Jack,’’ she said, “but I ’ll go now.” 

And after she was gone, he took a folded 
paper with a torn foreign stamp on it from his 
pocket and burned it over the lamp. 

There seemed to be some things that Jack 
did understand. 


V 

RUMOURS 


V 


RUMOURS 

T he afternoon sun was sending long 
shafts of orange-coloured light across 
the green carpet and the poppy- 
cushioned window-seats of Mrs. Donaldson’s 
library. It was called the library because it 
had several bookcases full of novels and sport- 
ing records, and all the newspapers and maga- 
zines lay on a table in the corner ; because the 
chairs were more comfortable there than any- 
where else in the house, and because the men 
were allowed to smoke as they pleased and 
the dogs to sleep on the hearth-rug. There 
was another room called the music-room be- 
cause it had a piano in it on which guests 
sometimes played, and a still more desert 
apartment went by the name of the drawing- 
room, because it was overfull of tables and 
chairs, brocade, gilding, pictures, mirrors, cabi- 
nets of Dresden china and silver toys, and 
nobody ever went into it. 

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Outside the house it was Autumn, and the 
curled leaves blew crisply down when the sharp 
fresh wind rustled the trees, but inside it was 
as Summer, for the sun and the crackling 
wood fires made a agreeable warmth, and 
the scent of hothouse flowers was heavy in 
the air. 

Williarh, the footman, was setting out the 
tea-table beside the library fire, and Mr. Puffles, 
the butler, stood with his back to the genial 
glow and read the morning’s paper at arm’s 
length, punctuating each item of news with the 
comments of a ponderous and thoughtful 
mind. 

See what trouble they ’re having with them 
Boers,” said Mr. Puffles. “You mark my 
words, William, that war ’s not over yet, nor 
it won’t be while there’s a handful of them 
left together. It’s a bad business getting a 
badger out of a barrel, a bad business, a bad 
business.” 

William said, “ I believe you,” and finding 
his chiefs attention now engaged by the 
Chinese question, he succumbed to temptation 
and swallowed a particularly succulent cake 
at one mouthful. 


172 


RUMOURS 


‘‘This Chinese matter is a queer thing. It's 
but right to Christianise them, of course, but 
they say that it costs more than the salary of 
two missionaries to convert one heathen. Now 
that don't seem right, William, it do not seem 
right.” 

“ Indeed it do not, Mr. Puffles," returned 
the discreet William, hastily bolting another 
cake. 

“ It strikes me McKinley 's bit off more 
than he can chew in the Philippines," con- 
tinued Puffles, flattered by his subordinate's 
ready acquiescence in his views, and skimming 
a fresh column. 

Unfortunately, William's resemblance to 
the President of these United States was here 
made manifest by so severe a fit of choking 
that Mr. Puffles was obliged to put down the 
paper and pat him on the back. 

“You don't feel yourself in any way con- 
sumptive, I hope, young man .? " he said 
anxiously. “ I had to part with my last foot- 
man on that account and no other. Con- 
sumption is a very serious affair when it once 
gets hold on a man, a very serious affair." 

William barked out that his state was the 
173 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


result of an accident and in no way to be con- 
sidered chronic, and the butler turned his 
attention to the tea tray. 

‘‘It's a strange thing how them drop cakes 
disappears,” he observed sternly. “ I can’t 
account for it unless the maids steal them on 
me in the pantry after the tray is ready. I 
see Mary sidling out of there with my own 
eyes not ten minutes ago,” and Mr. Puffles, 
blinking the very eyes which he had accused 
Mary of annexing, cleared his throat, sugges- 
tively, and glanced at the footman for con- 
firmation. 

But William, though an ordinary man, was 
not lacking in chivalry. 

“ It were n’t her,” he said shortly. “ You 
may as well know, Mr. Puffles, that I ’m great 
with Mary. She ’s my sweetheart, and don’t 
you forget it, so what ’s said agin her is said 
agin me. She come to the pantry to tell me 
that she suspicioned as Mr. Maurice was 
engaged to Miss Julia Silverton; which I had 
asked her for her observances, as I ’d some 
notions on the subject myself” 

“ They have it on them in the servants’ hall, 
I am aware,” remarked Puffles, goggling with 
174 


RUMOURS 


interest. “ But I hear she have encouraged 
others.'’ 

“ The grooms in the stable passed me the 
word,” said William, winking and wiping his 
eyes, which were yet full of tears from his 
coughing fit. “ The very day she come, and 
that 's a month ago now, pretty near, Thomas, 
who sat behind in the T-cart when Mr. Mau- 
rice drove her back from the station, Thomas 
says to me, ‘ That 's a match,' he says.'' 

“ Thomas is a close observer,” said the 
butler, a very close observer. And if Mr. 
Maurice makes as good a husband as his 
brother, Mr. Gilbert, she 'll be a lucky young 
lady, a very lucky young lady. I 've served 
in Mr. Donaldson’s family now these seven 
year, and I 've no fault to find with him, nor 
yet with his wife. No fault to find.” 

Mary says that Miss Silverton is free 
with her money, as a lady should be,” con- 
tinued William, and she 's awful taking 
in her ways. There 's the carriage wheels ! 
They 're home. I guess I 'd better light the 
kettle lamp. They come away after the meet, 
most likely ; they could n't have follered,” and 
he hastily transported himself after Puffles to 

175 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


the hall, where he appeared as much like 
an automaton as becomes a self-respecting 
footman. 

A rustle of skirts on the floor and a ripple 
of high laughter in the air betrayed the ap- 
proach of things feminine, and Mrs. Gilbert 
Donaldson entered the library, followed by her 
guest, Julia Silverton. 

Mrs. Donaldson was very beautiful, yellow- 
haired and white-skinned, with the most de- 
lightfully aquiline of little noses and the 
shallowest, sleepiest, most tawny eyes in the 
world. The hottest night, the coldest day, 
the longest journey, the most wearing anxiety, 
never left a line of trouble or a trace of fatigue 
on her perfect face, nor softened the tones of 
her clear, hard voice. 

Miss Silverton’s good looks were more 
subtle. Her eyes were dusky blue, and though 
the surface laughed or languished, underneath 
they seemed full of the wonderment and mys- 
tery of all the ages of the world. The abun- 
dant brown waves of her hair clung more 
closely to her head than the fashion of the day 
demanded. Her mouth in repose was sweet 
and serious, despite the little secret curves of 
176 


RUMOURS 


merriment at the corners. Her manner was 
courteous and considerate and her voice gentle. 

“You don’t mean to say you are cold, 
Julia?” said Mrs. Donaldson, as the younger 
woman drew near the fire, pulling off her 
gloves and warming her pink palms and wide- 
spread fingers at the blaze. 

“ I ’m always cold when the Summer ’s over,” 
answered Julia. “ I feel stiff all over, like 
a snake, as soon as the thermometer goes below 
seventy. How glad I am that tea is ready ! 
Very weak, please, Constance, with two lumps 
of sugar and no cream. I hate a thick 
drink ! ” 

“There,” said her friend, handing her the 
cup ; “ but I don’t see how you can drink it 
like that, it’s so washy.” 

“You don’t see how I can do a great many 
things that I do, or dislike a great many things 
that I dislike. It’s a matter of habit.” 

“ Or take so long in making up your mind 
what you do like, if that ’s a matter of habit,” 
interrupted Mrs. Donaldson. “ When are you 
and Maurice coming to an understanding ? 
You really are the most tiresome people to watch 
through a flirtation.” 

12 


177 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


“ There ’s no occasion for watching us/' said 
Miss Silverton, calmly, drawing the skirt of 
her brown cloth dress out of the way of a 
shower of sparks that had just burst in a minia- 
ture explosion from the flaming logs. “To all 
intents and purposes we are engaged." 

“ Since when ? " cried Mrs. Donaldson. “ I 
congratulate you both, but of course I can't 
pretend to be surprised. Gilbert will be de- 
lighted. I wonder whether Maurice has told 
him ! I hope they 'll get safely through the 
run. Maurice was on The Demon, and he 's 
apt to rush his fences when he is fresh." Julia 
looked anxious. “ But it 's all right. He 
rides like a centaur. Shall you announce it at 
once ? What will your ring be ? " glancing at 
her own sparkling fingers. 

“ I don't know yet," said Julia, laughing, 
“ but not a solitaire. No, no, I shall not an- 
nounce it now. I hate long engagements, and 
being independent as I am, without any rela- 
tions and quite my own mistress, I have no- 
body's opinion to ask. Of course Maurice has 
told Gilbert, but I should prefer that no one 
else know for a litde while — just until we have 
our plans more settled." 

178 


RUMOURS 


“ Well, I shall advise Maurice to hurry your 
plans, my dear ; we all know you are a very 
elusive lady.” 

Julia looked up quickly. “ 1 don’t know 
what you mean,” she said. 

Mrs. Donaldson laughed her little, hard 
laugh. “ Well, there have been stories about 
you — and John Herbert, for instance,” she 
suggested. 

“There would always have been stories about 
me and some man or other, because the death 
of my father and mother left me free, from the 
moment I was grown up, to do what I pleased 
with myself and a modest competence. John 
Herbert was a celebrated artist, and I chose to 
make a friend of him. Of course, people 
talked, but I don’t see how that points to my 
elusiveness.” 

“ Are you sure you did not make something 
else of him?” inquired her hostess. “You 
may as well admit it; everyone says so.” 

“You mean a fool or a lover, I suppose,” 
said Miss Silverton, “ and that it would be 
rather a feather in my cap to confess it. Well, 
I ’m afraid I can’t take that glory to myself ; 
but it is true that I was once almost engaged 

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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


to Mr. Herbert for a week, and at the end of 
that time we decided that he could not be both 
my husband and a celebrated artist. That was 
almost two years ago. You see he preferred to 
retain the more independent position. Land- 
scapes are less exacting than ladies, and one can 
represent them in what moods one pleases, and 
leave them when one is tired of them.** 

“ Everybody says he was very much in love 
with you.** 

“ And everybody else says I was very much 
in love with him, but as a matter of fact I do 
not think either of us was in love, and we did 
not understand each other in the least, though 
we were desperately interested. He made a 
picture of me once, the only portrait he ever 
painted, and he used to tell me I had an in- 
scrutable expression, which flattered me im- 
mensely. It would have been a wonderful 
likeness if it had ever been finished. I always 
promised to go back for the last sittings. Per- 
haps some day I may.** 

“It*s rather odd his having happened to 
take a house and come down here this Au- 
tumn to paint,** remarked Constance, eying 
her friend narrowly. 

i8o 


RUMOURS 


But Julia’s face gave no sign of discom- 
posure. 

‘‘ Is he really here ? ” she said. ‘‘ What 
house has he taken, and when did he come ? 
I have not seen him anywhere ; have you ? ” 

‘‘No,” returned the other. “ But Maurice 
told me he had taken that little farm at the 
crossroads, and he came down last week.” 

“ I wonder Maurice did not mention it to 
me.” 

“ Perhaps he was jealous,” suggested Mrs. 
Donaldson. 

Maurice s ladylove laughed and helped her- 
self to cake, — her fancy set to the same kind 
as that beloved by William, the footman. 

“ I don’t think he is of a jealous disposition,” 
said she. “ Of course, he is enough a man of 
the world to pay the woman he likes the com- 
pliment of watchful attention, but I think he 
would consider only himself to blame if my 
fancy went wandering. He would not be really 
‘jealous’ unless I gave him cause sufficient to 
lead to his cutting off my nose, or whatever it 
is they do to untrustworthy ladies. Jealousy 
is an absurd, futile sort of passion. I can’t 
understand it.” 

i8i 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


“ How would you feel, now, if another 
woman tried to interfere between you and 
Maurice ? ” inquired Constance, curiously. 

“ Only reasonably amused at her efforts, at 
present,” answered Julia. “ I am not afraid, 
but if I were — if I thought that another 
woman could take him from me — I should try 
to find out what there was in her that pleased 
him, and do it better myself. And if she still 
attracted him she would be the stronger and 
have a right to win. At all events, I should 
not be jealous. I should play as long as 
there was any chance, and when the game 
was over throw my cards on the table with a 
good grace. How I hate cards, by the way ! 
Don’t play bridge this evening, Constance, 
please.” 

Well, I like my rights,” said Mrs. Don- 
aldson. “ And what belongs to me is not to 
be interfered with lightly, whether I care for it 
or not. People who fight me have all the 
trouble they want. You don’t really care for 
your own way, Julia, even when you know 
what it is. I ’m afraid you are rather weak, 
my dear.” 

Julia smiled, and then sighed reflectively. 

182 


RUMOURS 


Was she weak? she wondered. In all minor 
questions she knew she yielded to Constance, 
who had distinct opinions on every subject, no 
matter how trifling; but was she weak in the 
things worth while to be strong about ? She 
hoped not. 

The sound of wheels on the gravel attracted 
their attention at this moment, and Mrs. Don- 
aldson glanced out of the window. 

‘‘Heavens!” she exclaimed. “It’s Mrs. 
Cacklethorpe’s carriage. Now we shall have 
all the gossip of the neighbourhood, — why 
Mrs. Bramble has parted with her cook ; who 
pays Mrs. Mongoose’s bills ; whether Mr. 
Crusty drinks or is only insane, and what 
brings Mr. Herbert to this bailiwick. She 
will be sure to ask you whether you are en- 
gaged to Maurice, so be prepared.” 

As she spoke the horses drew up at the 
door, and the bell pealed importantly. In a 
few minutes the sympathetic voice of Puffles 
announced Mrs. Cacklethorpe, and that stately 
lady entered the room, her long nose in the air, 
her stiff skirt pointed out ahead of her like the 
cowcatcher of an engine, and her humorous 
eyes roving from side to side in parrot glances. 

183 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


Many flounces rustled at her knees and a rich 
mantle hung from her shoulders. 

I thought I would come in for a few min- 
utes as I was passin’j Mrs. Donaldson/’ she 
said, to ask you for the address of that house- 
keeper you spoke of the other day. If she is 
very good she might suit my friend, Mrs. 
Bramble, who is in great difficulties with her 
servants just now. Really, this servant ques- 
tion, my dear, complicates life dreadfully, and 
country life especially. Yes. But between 
ourselves, I ’m afraid the Brambles are a little 
close, — they count their pennies very carefully, 
and I have heard that there was a lack of 
butcher’s meat below stairs, and a tendency to 
scrimp on skim-milk. Of course, when we go 
there everything is of the best, but I fancy they 
make up for it at other times. Yes. And you 
know, my dear, servants are human bein’s, after 
all, and they do not like to be starved in the 
midst of plenty. Of course we can’t tell her 
that, but I thought a good housekeeper ’* 

I ’ll give you the address,” said Constance, 
crossing the room to the writing table, and 
in the meantime Julia will make you a cup of 
tea.” 


184 






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‘‘ I have not had a chance to say how do 
you do, Miss Silverton ? Mrs. Cackle- 
thorpe went on, seating herself beside the tea 
table. “We married women have such tire- 
some domestic details always harassin’ our 
minds. Stay single as long as you can, my 
dear, though if all one hears is true, that won’t 
be for long. You have been here for some 
time, have n’t you ? How much longer are 
you goin’ to stay ? I suppose you have not 
quite made up your mind. Well, it is a most 
charmin’ place, as I said to Mr. Herbert — 
John Herbert, you know — who dined with 
me last night. You know John Herbert? 
But of course you do. Yes. I remember 
when we all thought — Well, well, we mustn’t 
gossip too soon this time, must we ? — in spite 
of his sudden appearance in the neighbourhood. 
And then he ’s not the only one, is he? I ’m 
afraid you modern young women are great 
hands for flirtin’. Yes. They did say this 
Summer, at Homburg, that Marian Dexterous 
was havin’ a desperate affair with Herbert. 
But then Marian’s affairs — I really believe 
they drove her husband into a decline.,. He 
had neither the heart nor the spirit to follow 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


her through so many of them and resist 
disease, too, so he died, and she went about 
with her eyes turned up and a crape veil 
floatin* down her back, and everyone said she 
looked too lovely, and so young to be a 
widow. For my part, I don't think that kind 
of woman is ever too young or too old to be 
a widow.” 

‘‘ She certainly is a wonderful person,” said 
Julia, handing Mrs. Cacklethorpe her cup. 
“ I don't know anybody who gives you such 
an impression of health and strength and a 
sort of joyous vitality as she does. She is 
always in high spirits. And how she rides ! 
She has the pluck of a school boy.” 

“ Pluck ^ Yes, I suppose she has,” an- 
swered Mrs. Cacklethorpe. I know I 'd 
never have the courage to go flyin’ over those 
great big fences, even if I did have a gentleman 
on each side of me and one ridin' behind, to 
pick me up if I fell off.” 

“ I 'm afraid he 'd be more likely to jump 
on you, if you fell off, Mrs. Cacklethorpe,” 
said Constance, with her high little laugh. 

Here 's the address you wanted. The 
woman used to keep house for old Mr. Don- 
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RUMOURS 


aldson ; that is why I know something about 
her. When he and my sister-in-law went to 
live abroad they took her with them, but she 
did n’t like it, and after trying it for some 
months has just come home. I don’t recom- 
mend her. I never recommend servants or 
dressmakers ; but she might do.” 

“Well, I’ll tell Mrs. Bramble,” returned 
her visitor, rising. “And speakin’ of your 
father-in-law, I must tell you that when I was 
in Paris they said he was perfectly crazy about 
Marian Dexterous. That was last Winter, 
you know, when she thought she had enough 
voice for the stage and went abroad to study. 
I could n’t help thinkin’ of it to-day when I 
saw your husband so attentive to her. Every- 
one said that old Mr. Donaldson was perfectly 
infatuated by her, and his daughter was fright- 
ened to death for fear he ’d marry her, or 
leave her a fortune or somethin’. Are n’t men 
strange, my dear ? You never know where 
the old Adam will break out; the older the 
queerer. Yes. Well, I must go home. Did 
you know, speakin’ of queer people, that they 
have had to shut up old Mr. Crusty ? Could n’t 
stand him, my dear. Took to squirtin’ the 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


garden hose in the drawin’-room winder, be- 
cause he said the devil was standin’ in a corner 
all dressed in flames. A little touched here,” 
tapping her forehead. “ All cocktails, my 
dear. Good-bye. Mr. Cacklethorpe hates 
me to keep those horses standin’. Good-bye, 
Miss Silverton ; don’t keep us waitin’ too long 
for news.” 

Mrs. Donaldson touched the bell, and 
Puffles, who was already stationed in the hall, 
feeling, doubtless, that it was about time for 
the visit to terminate, reproachfully conducted 
Mrs. Cacklethorpe to her carriage. 

Julia gave herself a little shake and stretched 
her arms up above her head with a half- 
smothered yawn. 

“Well, now we know about everything,” 
she said, “ and can go peacefully to dress for 
dinner. I wish the men were home.” 

“ Here they come,” exclaimed Constance. 
“ I hear their horses’ hoofs on the road. I 
must tease Gilbert about Mrs. Dexterous.” 

“ I hope there were no falls to-day,” said 
Julia. 

“ Oh, my dear, when you have been mar- 
ried as long as I have you won’t be so nervous 

i88 


RUMOURS 


about it. I never worry myself until I have 
to. It's much the best way.” 

Julia did not answer. She went to the 
window and peered out into the dusk. Be- 
yond the terrace, which terminated in a balus- 
trade, with urns that marked the position of 
the steps leading down to the sunk garden, 
she could just distinguish the dim yellowish 
loop of the road where it turned off to the 
stable. It seemed as if two shadows passed 
across it, and she sighed a little sigh of relief 
and slid down among the cushions in the 
window-seat, resting her head against the 
wainscoting. They were safe, then. She 
thought of Maurice with a feeling of tender- 
ness and content and lack of responsibility 
which was delightful to her. Other men who 
loved her had sometimes been an effort. He 
was none. Whatever mood she was in was 
the mood that seemed to suit him best. He 
was always pleased with her, and she was so 
mentally at ease with him that she hardly 
knew where her ideas ended and his began. 
He never took things for granted. He never 
made mistakes. If she wanted to talk, he 
listened and loved her, and if she preferred 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

to remain silent he was always able and willing 
to amuse her. In fact, he was so perfect a 
lover that Miss Silverton sometimes forgot 
that the man inside was not the kind of person 
with whom she could do exactly as she pleased, 
and upon the few occasions when this was 
brought somewhat forcibly to her notice it 
gave her sensations which, though half-indig- 
nant, were far from unpleasing. She was 
beginning to be lazy about choosing her own 
path through the world. It was a relief at 
times to give up the management of every- 
thing, including herself, to someone who knew 
the way she wanted to go as well as she did, 
if not better. Her real power over him she 
never doubted. 

She watched for the two figures to come up 
from the stable. Somehow it reminded her 
of her childhood, this sitting curled up in the 
window-seat, looking out into the gathering 
darkness. She used to sit so when she was a 
little girl, a very melancholy little girl, think- 
ing of ships that went down in the night, and 
children who were lost and could n't get home, 
and one awful story, which ought never to 
have been in a child’s book at all, about an 


RUMOURS 


evilly disposed gentleman who kept a sort 
of inn among the mountains somewhere and 
murdered any traveller who owned a watch 
of sufficient beauty to excite covetousness. 
Julia had not minded his desire for watches, 
nor even his somewhat high-handed method 
of obtaining them, but he had had a secretive 
habit of throwing the bodies of his victims 
down an apparently bottomless well, and it 
had been one of the horrors of her childhood. 
Suppose one of them had not been quite dead, 
and he had gone on falling, falling, down, 
down, forever into that black hole ! 

She remembered the story to-night and 
laughed a little at her old terrors, and thought 
she would tell Maurice about them. One 
could tell Maurice anything, secure of his 
sympathy if not of his approval. She won- 
dered how much he knew about her and John 
Herbert. They had really been pretty nearly 
in love with each other, he and she. But, after 
all, what was there to know ? Even supposing 
he had come here to see her, which was, of 
course, an absurd thing to think — oh, ridicu- 
lous ! — there was nothing to know or tell. 
Constance’s voice roused her. 

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Are they coming yet, ‘ Marianna ’ ? You 
look too pathetic.” 

Before Julia could reply the silence was 
broken by the sound of stiffly booted feet 
stamping themselves limber on the piazza, and 
by Gilbert’s hearty voice exclaiming, as the 
brothers came in together : — 

He pecked badly when he landed after that 
last fence. The poor old beggar was tired out, 
and I nearly went over his head. But I say, 
Maurice, didn’t Mrs. Dexterous go well! I 
declare, she ’s afraid of nothing, and that big 
brute she rode was out of her hand the whole 
way. Why did n’t you follow, Constance ? ” 
he continued, for by this time he had got 
within speaking distance of his wife. ‘‘You 
could have seen the whole run from the 
road.” 

“I didn’t care about it particularly,” she 
answered, “and Julia was cold, so we came 
home.” 

“Julia mustn’t be allowed to take cold, on 
any account,” he said, his kind, handsome, 
red-brown face lighting up with a smile. 
“ Maurice has told me. Miss Silverton, and I 
never was more pleased about anything. I ’m 
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awfully glad, and I have nearly shaken his arm 
off congratulating him. If I had not mistrysted 
with the branch of a tree in the dark, and so 
covered one side of my face with green mould, 
I should ask permission to kiss my future 

sister-in-law, but as it is ” 

As it is, your future sister-in-law will kiss 
you,” said Julia, laughing and standing on tip- 
toe to suit the action to the word, “ without 
waiting to be asked.” 

Gilbert looked much gratified. 

“ That is really an awfully nice woman,” he 
could be heard saying to his wife in the hall, as 
she swept him off to have his bruised cheek 
treated with some particular remedy of her own. 

They had got no further than the foot of the 
stairs, however, when there was a second tramp- 
ing of feet on the piazza, the upper half of the 
door swung open and a laughing, joyous face, 
with pink cheeks, loosened hair, and a riding 
hat pushed well off the forehead, looked in. 

“Oh, please, Constance dear, have pity on a 
poor wayfarer,” said the owner of the face, 
settling her accurately tied white stock with one 
hand and pushing open the lower part of the 
door with the other. “ Crusticuss wrenched 
13 193 


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off* a shoe scrambling down a bank on the way 
home, and he has been limping along for miles, 
until finally I had to get off and lead him. 
And there we were, ever so far from help, — a 
great, big, lame horse and a very tired and 
footsore rider. You can’t think how forlorn 
it was, Mr. Donaldson ! And then I thought 
of you and your comfortable stable, and I 
stopped and gave Crusticuss to your man. 
You don’t mind, do you ? He was so pleased, 
poor old fellow, not to go any farther.” 

Come in, Marian ! ” cried Constance. 
“ You need n’t go any farther, either ; we will 
take care of you and send you home after 
dinner.” 

“ Of course,” echoed Gilbert, looking at her 
merry eyes and glowing colour with undisguised 
admiration, “ of course you will stay to dinner.” 

“ Well, I was rather hoping you might let 
me have a bath and a bite, but what shall I do 
with Mr. Herbert ? ” looking over her shoulder 
into the darkness, out of which a tall figure 
suddenly seemed to grow. ‘‘He was taking 
an owlish prowl at this unearthly hour — to 
rest his eyes, he said — and I met him just at 
your gate and made him walk up to the house 
194 


RUMOURS 


with me. Won’t you ask him to dine, too, 
Constance ? ” 

A cordial invitation was extended to Mr. 
Herbert across the door, and he accepted it 
with a hesitation of manner that sat somewhat 
strangely on a person of his decided appearance. 

John Herbert was a man whom Nature had 
singled out for success by giving him the power 
of belief in himself without destroying his ap- 
preciation of other people’s beliefs. He took 
life lightly and tolerantly, but his eyebrows 
were intensely drawn together, and his gray 
eyes observed you keenly from beneath them. 
H is red hair rose crested from his head, and 
he carried his chin forward in a way that those 
who did not admire him called supercilious. It 
was evident that he did not quite like the po- 
sition in which Mrs. Dexterous had placed him, 
but also that, no matter where he might be 
placed, he was infinitely capable of making the 
best of the situation. 

‘‘ I will dine with pleasure if I may go back 
to my house to dress,” he said. “ One feels so 
demoralised after a long tramp.” 

“ He is so particular,” said Mrs. Dexterous, 
in the possessive tone a woman insensibly 

195 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


adopts to the man with whom she is flirting. 
“ Now, I must stay as I am, and I am much 
more demoralised by my long tramp than he 
is. He did n’t have to drag hundreds of 
pounds of lame horse about these dismal 
lanes.” 

‘‘ Constance will lend you anything you 
want,” promised Constance’s husband, hospi- 
tably. “ You ’d better have a glass of sherry 
and a biscuit, Mrs. Dexterous. You must be 
tired. The tea will be cold by this time, and 
dinner is a long way off.” 

The whole party moved toward the library. 

“ Shall we find the lovers there ? ” asked 
Marian, with an exaggerated air of caution. 

“ Etiquette, etiquette, Marian ! ” cried Mrs. 
Donaldson from behind. ‘‘ There are no peo- 
ple answering to that name in this house.” 

Oh, well, my dear, we all guess what is 
going on, if we don’t exactly see it,” replied the 
other, laughing mockingly. ‘‘We are not so 
dull as all that, you know.” 

“You might enlighten the ignorance of the 
stranger within your gates,” suggested Mr. 
Herbert. “ If there is anything going on 
which a fellow-mortal ought to know, tell me. 

196 


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I Ve been abroad for some time, you must 
remember/* 

It is only some nonsense Mrs. Dexterous 
chooses to think about my brother-in-law and 
Miss Silverton, who is staying with me ; and 
what Mrs. Dexterous thinks she does n*t mind 
saying, you know.** 

“ Come, Constance, is n’t it really true ? ** in 
an engaging whisper. 

“ So Miss Silverton is staying with you ? ** 
said John Herbert. “ She used to be a very 
good friend of mine. 1 hope she has not for- 
gotten me.** 

These last words were spoken as they entered 
the room, and Julia came forward to meet them. 

You are so little forgotten,** she answered, 
shaking hands with Mrs. Dexterous, but look- 
ing at him, “ that only a few minutes ago I was 
speaking of you to Mrs. Donaldson.** 

They stood talking together for a little, 
apart, while the others formed a group round 
the fire. Maurice was being rallied by Mrs. 
Dexterous for having gone less well than usual 
that day, by reason of having lately lost his 
heart (pause) — for hunting. 

“Is it really you?** said John Herbert. 

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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


“What tricks has Fate been playing us that we 
have not met for so long ? ” 

“You did not know I was here?” (One 
may be interested in such matters, although 
one is engaged.) 

“ Oh, your comings and goings are chronicled 
in the papers,” he answered. “I knew that 
Miss Julia Silverton had been staying at 
Meadowford, but I did not know whether I 
should still find you here. Ladies of your kind 
are elusive. They seldom stay long in one 
place.” 

“ That is the second time this afternoon I 
have been called elusive,” complained Julia. 
“ People seem to have a very mistaken impres- 
sion of my character, but I did not think that 
I should find you in the ranks of my tra- 
ducers.” 

“ I don’t know who has better cause to 
be,” he responded, laughing. “ Everybody 
knows that I have a right to complain of 
you.” 

“There’s not a pin to choose between us, 
so far as our conduct toward each other goes,” 
she said, smiling; “ but I don’t call you 
names. On the contrary, I am very glad to 
198 


RUMOURS 


see you again, and I hope you are equally 
glad to see me.” 

‘‘ I ’m going to dine here to-night,” he 
observed abruptly. 

“ I was always one to accept the inevitable 
gracefully,” answered Miss Silverton. 

“ May we sit comfortably in a corner and 
talk frivolously while the others play bridge, 
as they are pretty sure to do if Mrs. Dexter- 
ous has anything to say about it ? ” 

‘‘Frivolously? Not at all. I shall give 
you a full, true, and particular account of every 
minute of my life since I last saw you.” It 
is exhilarating to believe one’s self admired, 
and Julia, finding herself in good spirits, 
could not help being a little mischievous. 

“It may even come to that,” he said. “ A 
woman will tell a man almost anything rather 
than sit silent with him after dinner, but per- 
haps it would be safer for me to play bridge 
and leave you to the society of — shall we say 
another adorer ? ” 

“ Prudence was ever your strongest failing,” 
returned Julia, “ so we had better say another 
adorer.” 

“ Now, dear Mr. Herbert, if you are going 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


home to dress, do go, or you will keep Mrs. 
Donaldson waiting for dinner,” broke in Mrs. 
Dexterous. 

Mr. Herbert, recognising the clear voice 
of duty, gradually took his departure. As he 
walked down the dark roads he was amused to 
think of the little interview he had just gone 
through. So many things had happened since 
he and Miss Silverton had last spoken to- 
gether. He remembered that their parting 
had been commonplace enough on the surface, 
but he had been really fond of her, so fond of 
her that he had felt then that he must choose 
between her and his art. He wondered if she 
had ever cared for him, and came to the con- 
clusion that she had not. She never would 
have cared for Donaldson if she had, he de- 
cided. The fact that he himself had lately 
fallen under the special and particular fascina- 
tion of Mrs. Dexterous seemed to have no 
bearing on the case. Indeed, he tried not to 
admit to himself the extent of Marian's power 
over him. She was handsome, of course, and 
supremely audacious and amusing. Donald- 
son, he rather thought, was dull. 

Mrs. Dexterous, at the same moment, was 
200 


RUMOURS 


being extremely amusing at his expense. She 
never spared anybody, not being sensitive, as 
some women are, for the dignity of the man 
they regard as their property. A pleasant 
little morsel of Homburg scandal, in which 
John Herbert and a forward foreign princess 
played the principal parts, was detailed for 
the entertainment of the company, and then 
she took herself off upstairs, declaring that 
she must make an exhaustive survey of Con- 
stance’s wardrobe before she decided what to 
wear. 

Maurice Donaldson and his lady-love were 
left alone, and they stood looking at each 
other a moment in silence. Outside — for 
the shutters were not closed — could be seen 
the dim outlines of woods against the sky and 
a shivering little crescent moon drifting along 
in a veil of cloud. Inside the room was 
lighted only by the fire, and the flickering 
shadows on the ceiling seemed to open and 
shut like the sticks of a great fan. The warm 
glow shone up into Julia’s face as she stood 
looking down into it, but only outlined Mau- 
rice’s strong, broad-shouldered figure as he 
leaned against the mantelpiece, his head 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


thrown so far back that his face was almost 
completely in darkness. 

“ Ton have n’t mistrysted with the branch 
of a tree, I hope,” said Miss Silverton, that 
you are hiding your head in the shadows there 
above me.” 

‘‘No,” returned Maurice, laughing. “Your 
Majesty’s property is as yet intact, save and 
excepting a hole in the heart which you very 
well wot of.” 

“ You can’t say I have not done my best to 
fill it,” she said lightly. 

“ So full that at the present moment it 
threatens to overflow and sweep away your 
royal Highness and all the proprieties.” He 
took her hands in one of his and tilted up her 
chin with the other. “ How I do love you ! 
I suppose I appear to be a decently stolid, 
self-controlled sort of person, but it is not so 
always, is it, little Julia?” 

“ I have known times when you were not,” 
looking up at him with a demure mouth and 
cheeks that flamed under his kisses, “ but I 
should not like you if I could not make you 
like me like that.” 

“ What a lot of ‘ likes ’ ! Is n’t there room 


202 


RUMOURS 


for a single ‘ love ’ in that sentence ? ^ Swear 

me a good mouth-filling oath, Kate, like a 
lady as thou art,' that you do love me and 
could n't possibly think of loving anybody 
else." 

Miss Silverton laughed. ‘‘ And I who told 
Constance only to-day that you did n't under- 
stand the meaning of the word jealousy ! " 

I don't," he said ; “ I could n't be jealous 
of you, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, 
though I might do things that would astonish 
you." 

“ And yet there are times in every woman's 
life that her particular man might be jealous 
of,” suggested Julia. 

“ It 's part of the life of every little fine lady 
to have men make love to her before her own 
particular man appears, if you mean that. 
And of course, the prettier she is the more of 
them do it." 

“ And how about after he appears ? " said she, 
the curved corners of her mouth deeping. 

“ After he appears, he takes care of that by 
making better love to her himself, as you will 
see," returned Maurice, convincingly. “ So 
your Majesty may manage your subjects as 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


you please, provided you give me permission 
to manage you for the rest of your life” 

He put a hand on each of her shoulders 
and bent his square, determined face down to 
hers. 

Is it a bargain ? ” he whispered, with his 
mouth against her ear. 

Maurice,” observed his lady-love, gravely, 
you have evidently seen a great deal of 
women. Not that I object. It takes a great 
many women to educate a husband — look at 
Solomon ! — and I never wanted to be first, 
but I do want to be last, so swear me a good 
round oath — No, that’s absurd. I don’t want 
you to swear. You love me because I choose, 
and you shall always love me for that reason.” 

‘‘ I could almost swear that it was a little 
because I chose, too,” said Maurice, smiling. 
‘‘You don’t suppose I did it on compulsion, 
do you ? ” 

“ I don’t suppose you would have done it 
at all if I had left you alone.” 

“ Oh, that ’s what you think, is it ? Am I 
to take it, from that, that all previous wor- 
shippers at your shrine have been as forcibly 
attracted ^ ” 


204 


RUMOURS 


Julia nodded. great many of them,’’ 

she observed ingenuously. “ But in justice 
to myself I must admit that, however much 
they struggled against falling in love with me, 
they struggled even more against leaving off. 
I suppose men like some women as soon as 
they see them, and some women are an ac- 
quired taste. But that is the most lasting 
kind, is n’t it, Maurice ? ” 

If you are that kind, sweetheart.” 

How nicely you say that ! I took a great 
deal of trouble to please you and to make you 
like me, Maurice, and now — ” She stopped, 
looking as shamefaced as a little girl confessing 
a theft of jam. 

And now ? ” he echoed encouragingly. 

‘‘Now I have to take a great deal more 
trouble to hide from other people how much 
I like you.” 

“Do I please you, dear? You sweet, you 
darling, there never was any woman in the 
world like you. You have the most enchant- 
ing eyes, and the softest voice, and the most 
maddening ways ” 

“ There ’s nothing on earth so good as love, 
is there? ” gasped Julia, as he set her down. 

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The room was deserted when William the 
footman came in to remove the tea things and 
light the lamps. He had also been enjoined 
by Puffles to keep up the fire, and as he ap- 
proached the hearth he saw Miss Silverton’s 
handkerchief and her little black-spotted veil, 
neatly folded and run through with a tiny 
turquoise pin, lying on the floor near a crop 
and a pair of gloves that he recognised as Mr. 
Maurice Donaldson’s. 

‘‘ I ’ll take my dying dick,” said William to 
himself — this was a very solemn oath — that 
the pair as dropped you was a-courting. I 
wish old Puffles could see it. Talk about in- 
animate objecks ! I call it circumstantial evi- 
dence.” And he picked up the discovered 
articles and deposited them upon opposite 
corners of the hail table, discreetly. 

And the lamps burned with a subdued light, 
as if they knew they were alone in the library, 
and the fire blazed and crackled to itself, throw- 
ing a deeper red upon the poppy-coloured cur- 
tains, which had now been drawn, and the 
chairs and tables stood so primly in their places 
that a little bright-eyed mouse, who had defied 
both the dogs and Mrs. Donaldson’s excellent 
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RUMOURS 

housekeeping, ran out from beneath the sofa 
and snatched a crumb of cake which had fallen 
on the floor when the tea tray was carried away. 

II 

Julia had just returned from a drive with 
John Herbert. They had fallen into the habit 
of going out together once or twice a week, 
making elaborate explanations to each other as 
to why it should amuse them, two non-hunting 
members of a hunting community, to follow the 
runs as persistently as they did. Constance, 
who did not hunt, either, but was extremely 
fond of riding, generally preferred to go to the 
meets on horseback, where she never found 
herself without a companion, for the beautiful 
Mrs. Donaldson was universally admired. Mr. 
Herbert had a cart and a sober-minded cob, who, 
fortunately, drove himself with great dignity 
and decorum, for his owner openly avowed his 
distaste for horses and his inability to give them 
the attention they demanded. 

‘‘ They require such a lot of looking after,” 
he used to say. ‘‘ I want something that will 
just go of itself and leave me free to take an 
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interest in outside things. Now, one of those 
slow little tinker s donkeys, the one-step- 
enough-for-me kind, would suit me admirably.” 

Only then we could n’t see the run,” Julia 
would observe, taking the reins from him as a 
matter of course; ‘‘and you know you always 
say how picturesque it is to watch the dogs 
come streaming over the fields, and the men’s 
red coats like sparks flying along against the 
blue Autumn haze, with the changing woods 
for a background. There ! I was so struck 
by the sentence that I committed it to memory. 
I hope you are flattered.” 

Flattered or not, he always protested that he 
was not especially interested in seeing the run, 
the drive was all he cared about ; and she 
usually responded by offering to conduct him 
to Scrabble Hill, a place from which an admir- 
able view of all the surrounding country could 
be obtained, “ from the centre all round to the 
sea ; ” but somehow, although they had been 
out several times together, they had never been 
to Scrabble Hill, while their acquaintance with 
the short cuts across the plains, their knowledge 
of the hedges, ditches, brooks, banks, and fences 
of the neighbourhood was remarkable. An- 
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RUMOURS 


other curious thing was that neither of them 
noticed the other’s absorbed silence when Mrs. 
Dexterous or Maurice Donaldson came gallop- 
ing into sight. 

Of course, people talked. Mrs. Cackle- 
thorpe said that John Herbert knew which 
side his bread was buttered on, and was n’t 
going to be such a fool as to let the heiress slip 
through his fingers a second time. (Julia was 
hardly an heiress, and John Herbert’s work 
commanded prices that would have made him 
famous if the pictures themselves had not.) 
That, for her part, she thought male centaurs 
had better marry female centaurs, if there ever 
were such creatures, my dear, which she rather 
doubted, and she believed that Marian Dexter- 
ous would make a very good wife for a riding 
man. Yes. Always in the saddle, you know, 
and out in the open air, where her high spirits 
could do nobody any harm. Mrs. Cackle- 
thorpe only wished that Maurice Donaldson 
would take a fancy to her, and perhaps she ’d 
encourage him after she had finished making a 
fool of Gilbert. Mrs. Cacklethorpe was dis- 
tressed on poor dear Constance’s account, of 
course, but then these cold, beautiful women, 
14 209 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


my dear, they never could hold the affection 
of a warm-hearted fellow like Gilbert. She was 
also sorry for Maurice, whom she understood 
to be ready to cut his throat for the sake of 
that sly little Miss Silverton. 

Sly little Miss Silverton and wily Mr. Her- 
bert, unmindful of comment, drove together, 
just the same, and secretly watched, with their 
hearts in their throats, the wonderful perform- 
ances of their respective true loves. Only Mr. 
Herbert would not admit to his head how 
much his heart was in love with the widow, 
while Julia took every opportunity of proving 
to herself how superior was Maurice in every 
way to every man whom she had ever known. 

She wished that he did not love hunting so 
much. Three afternoons in the week it took 
him away from her, and she was constantly 
frightened lest some accident should happen to 
him, and prayed, in violent pagan gusts of 
terror, that such might be averted. But, being 
as near a reasonable person as a mere woman 
can be, she said as little as possible of her fears 
and as much as possible of her pride in him, 
trying to emulate Constance, whose nerves 
were so perfect that she could watch Gilbert 
210 




RUMOURS 

through a rattling fall with an outwardly un- 
moved countenance. Men hated to be made 
a fuss over, she said. 

But on this particular day, when Julia re- 
turned to the house, she found Mrs. Donaldson 
there before her in a distinctly annoyed frame 
of mind, her eyes quite wide open with anger 
and her mouth firmly set. 

“ Really,” she said, Gilbert is too tire- 
some ! I have n’t been able to ride to-day, 
because my new saddle has gone to the village 
to have a little more stuffing put into it, and 
when I came to inquire I found he had lent 
my second one to Marian Dexterous, because 
she said hers rubbed her horse’s back. Now, 
it ’s all very well for Gilbert to be generous, 
but that saddle was mine, and he ought to have 
asked me before he promised it to anybody. 
He won’t do it again in a hurry ! He is en- 
tirely too fond of lending things in a good- 
natured way. I hate to have my things lent. 
I don’t mind giving them outright — that’s 
different. I don’t know what has got into 
Gilbert lately. I think he is bewitched.” She 
laughed in a half-amused, half-annoyed way, 
and went on : — 


2II 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


“ Poor old Gilbert ! He *s so unsuspicious 
that anybody can circumvent him. The other 
evening I met the gardener's boy coming out 
of the gate with a big basket of chrysanthemums, 
and when I asked what he was doing with 
them he said Mr. Donaldson had told him to 
leave them at Mrs. Dexterous's cottage on his 
way home. So I just took a card out of my 
cardcase — I happened to have been paying 
some visits — and wrote an affectionate message 
on it and sent it with the flowers. Marian 
must have been surprised. She did n't know 
that I had been watching her little games. She 
is trying to pique John Herbert by flirting with 
these other men. I know her ways so well ! 
‘ Dear Mr. Donaldson, won't you give me a 
lead over this fence ? I know nobody will 
take it but you,' and, ‘ Is n't it too bad that the 
flowers I ordered for dinner to-night have n't 
come ? What shall I do, Mr. Donaldson ? 
You always help poor and deserving people.' 
And that goose of a Gilbert thinks her delight- 
ful. Well, I like Marian myself, but I am 
not going to stand any nonsense of this 
sort." 

But what difference does it make ? " said 


212 


RUMOURS 


Julia. You could n't be really jealous of 
her. I should think her manoeuvres would 
only amuse you.” 

“You don't understand, my dear,'' said 
Constance. “ I 'm not in the least jealous, 
only I won't have any woman imagine that 
she can amuse herself with my property. And 
these rides home from the run where they 
always miss their way — the idea ! when Gil- 
bert knows every stone in every road for miles 
about — and these loiterings over afternoon 
tea, and these invitings of herself to dinner are 
going to stop here and now, Mrs. Cackle- 
thorpe notwithstanding.'' 

“Well, it's natural,'' answered Julia, with a 
little shrug, “ that you should know your own 
affairs best, but if I were you I should just 
ignore the whole thing.'' 

“ Opinions differ. You may not care what 
people say about you, but I don't like to have 
it gossiped all over the country every time 
Mrs. Cacklethorpe sees Gilbert with Marian, 
and he shall have a piece of my mind before 
we dine there to-night.'' 

“ Are we dining at the Cacklethorpes' to- 
night ? '' asked Julia. “ I had quite forgotten 
213 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


it. I wonder if Maurice remembers ? I think 
I dl go down and remind him.*' 

“ I did not hear them come in/* said 
Constance. Why don't you ring and ask 
first ? " 

I heard their voices in the hall a few 
minutes ago/* answered Miss Silverton, blush- 
ing a little, angry blush as she noticed the 
amused smile with which her remark was 
greeted. My ears are sharper than my 

tongue still." 

She left Constance's room, in which the two 
ladies had been sitting, crossed the gallery and 
ran lightly down the wide, red-carpeted stair- 
case. She had to pass through the drawing- 
room, and before she could reach the library 
door she heard a rustle of paper and Gilbert’s 
voice, saying : — 

“ So he *11 be starting directly, and what the 
deuce he means by it Heaven only knows. All 
this mystery as to the cause of his journey, 
and his begging me to keep it quiet, and all 
that sort of thing, are most unlike him. Poor 
old governor ! I hope he *s not getting queer 
in his head, or anything. His letter is really 
rather crazy, don’t you think so ? ” 

214 


RUMOURS 


If anything were wrong/* answered Mau- 
rice, Alice would be sure to write. And if 
she had not thought he was fit to come alone, 
she would have come with him.’* 

“ Unless he gave her the slip,** suggested 
Gilbert. “ That is possible. Here *s Julia ! ’* 
seeing her in the doorway. “ Is Constance 
coming down ? No? Well,” throwing away 
his cigarette, with a regretful gesture, ‘‘ I must 
go up and see her. I wonder what time she 
ordered the carriage for. What a confounded 
nuisance it is having to go out to dinner 
to-night ! ** 

H is tall, slightly bowed figure disappeared 
through the portieres, and the two fox terriers 
who had been asleep on the hearth rug rose, 
yawned, stretched first their fore and then 
their hind quarters, and followed him. 

Julia came and sat down in a low chair near 
the fire, and Maurice, rising, dragged his close 
beside her and possessed himself of her hands 
for a minute, which he kissed one after the 
other and then put back in her lap. 

Such a nice, satisfactory little lady to come 
home to ! ** he said. 

Am I not ? ** responded Miss Silverton, 

215 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


leaning her cheek against his for an instant and 
as rapidly withdrawing it. ‘‘ No, Maurice, not 
for a minute — I mean, not again for a minute. 
I want to tell you. I could n't help hearing 
something Gilbert was saying to you as I came 
into the library. Was it something I ought 
not to have heard? It began about a mys- 
terious journey and your father.” 

“Oh, it's all right, dear. There is nothing 
you should n't know. Only Gilbert is worried 
because my father writes that he is coming 
over at once on business, and that as the 
business is private and particular he does n't 
want anything said about it. He says, ‘not 
even to your wife ' — writing to his eldest son, 
you understand, which naturally does not for- 
bid me to tell mine, especially as she happens 
to have heard it already, through no fault of 
anybody's.” 

“ Do you think your father will like me, 
Maurice? I should think he would. I am 
very pretty in my manners to old gentlemen. 
Is he hard to please ? '' 

“ The most amiable old person who ever 
existed. I 'm the only person you will find it 
hard to ' please. I am so critical and fault- 
216 


RUMOURS 


finding where you are concerned. I say, 
Julia, why don’t you hasten your fineries a 
little, or get them afterward, and be married 
while he is out here ? It seems to me it 
would be very dutiful, and not entirely without 
other merits as a plan.” 

Your passion and fire carry everything 
before them,” said Julia, laughing. “ I will 
consider the proposition. Do you really want 
me to marry you so soon ? ” 

“ Do I really want you to — ? Well, of all 
the disingenuous remarks I ever heard you 
make — and they have not been few — that is 
the most disingenuous. You deserve to be 
picked up and carried off to the nearest magis- 
trate, and married out of hand, without benefit 
of clergy ; and I 'd do it for the comparatively 
insignificant sum of twenty-five cents.” 

“ And I Ve left my purse upstairs,” said 
Julia, regretfully. 

Now, while these two were talking together 
happily enough downstairs, a conversation of 
a very different nature was taking place in the 
room above them. Constance had not neg- 
lected the opportunity of telling her husband, 
not only what she thought of his conduct, but 
217 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


what everybody else thought or would be 
likely to think. If she had put it on the 
ground of unkindness and lack of considera- 
tion toward herself, the good-natured Gilbert 
would have been softened in a minute, but 
to be told plainly that you are being made a 
fool and a cat ’s-paw of by the woman you 
rather admire, while all your neighbours look 
on and laugh, is quite enough to vex any 
gentleman, especially after he has had a fatigu- 
ing run and a worrying letter from his father. 

For once Gilbert permitted himself to be 
sulky, and after talking until his arguments 
were exhausted and his patience also, he ended 
by absolutely declining to discuss the matter 
further or to go out to dinner with her, either. 
Constance could not believe her ears at first, 
but he made it plain to her. 

“ But, my dear Gilbert, you cant do a thing 
like that ! ” 

Oh, can’t I ? ” returned he, for once 
thoroughly put out. “You just watch me 
and see. I ’m dead tired, and I am not going 
to their infernal old dinner, and you may make 
what excuses for me you please.” 

“Well, then, I had better stay at home, 
218 


RUMOURS 


too,” said Constance, helplessly — she was not 
used to her husband in this mood. “ It will 
at least keep their table even. Oh, it 's 
absurd, Gilbert. You must go. We accepted 
days ago.'’ 

‘‘ I am not going, and that is the end of it,” 
he answered, walking toward his dressing-room 
door. “ You had better telephone and say so, 
but I advise you to go. You won’t find me a 
very pleasant companion,” and he shut the 
door with more emphasis than seemed alto- 
gether necessary. 

Mrs. Donaldson telephoned, and found 
that, while the loss of her husband’s company 
was regretted, her own was still greatly desired, 
the voice of her hostess assuring her that she 
always had an extra man or two. “ They like 
to come when they are stayin’ at the club, you 
know, my dear, and it’s convenient to have 
them, in case of accidents.” 

As he heard his brother pass the door on 
his way downstairs, Gilbert called him into the 
dressing-room. 

I ’m not going to-night,” he said.* “ I ’m 
dog-tired, and Constance has got some ridicu- 
lous idea into her head about Marion Dexter- 
219 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


ous and me — she can be most exasperating 
when she likes — and she said so much that I 
rather lost my temper for the evening. Any- 
how, I said I would n’t go, and I won’t ; but 
I declare,” went on the easy-going fellow, I 
hate to be on bad terms with people. Always 
did, you know ; and I don’t really want to 
vex her. So I wish, my dear boy, you ’d do 
something for me to-night if Mrs. D. is there, 
as I ’m pretty sure she will be. You see, I 
was going to drive her over to the club to- 
morrow to see the big golf match. I wish 
you ’d just get an opportunity to say to her 
that I have to go to town on business. I ’ll 
go, too,” added Gilbert, self-righteously. 
‘‘ There ought to be something for me to 
attend to.” 

I ’ll make a point of mentioning it,” said 
Maurice, gravely ; both your going and your 
regrets that you cannot have the pleasure of 
taking her to the golf match.” 

“ I suppose you wouldn’t take her ? ” con- 
tinued Gilbert, suggestively. 

I am driving Julia. Don’t you worry 
about Mrs. Dexterous. She will manage her 
affairs perfectly without assistance from either 


220 


RUMOURS 


of us. I am afraid you are falling a little under 
her influence, old man. Pull up ! ” 

When he went down Constance and Julia 
were standing in the hall, peach-colour and 
pink cloaked, with impatient, satin-shod feet 
tapping the floor. 

“ Do come along, Maurice ! ” cried his 
sister-in-law. ‘‘We have nearly two miles to 
drive and only five minutes to do it.’' 

The horses travelled fast, however, and they 
were not very late. Mrs. Cacklethorpe, in a 
splendid gray brocaded gown covered with gold 
sunflowers, received them very graciously, and 
told Maurice that he must take his brother’s 
place and Mrs. Dexterous down to dinner. 

“ It ’s all right, my dear,” she said to Con- 
stance ; “ I wasn’t goin’ to lose your society if 
Mr. Gilbert had got a chill. It ’s this loiterin’ 
home after huntin’ that does it. They get so 
hot ridin’ at that breakneck pace and then they 
go crawlin’ home, and it ’s no wonder. I sup- 
pose you ’re glad enough to get them back 
with all their bones. I always have an extra 
man or two dinin’ at this season, in case of 
accident, as I told you. Did they announce 
dinner ? Yes. Here ’s Mr. Cacklethorpe for 
221 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


you. Oh, by the way, Mrs. Bramble likes the 
housekeeper now, but it won't last, my dear." 

The party was as well assorted as such par- 
ties usually are. Constance and Mr. Cackle- 
thorpe — whose personality was so faint beside 
that of his wife that nothing remained of it but 
a pair of wistful eyes and a little dim voice that 
occasionally said funny things — sat at one end 
of the big table, and looked across many flat 
beds of red leaves and purple asters, until they 
beheld Mrs. Cacklethorpe and a very famous 
lawyer with a prominent nose, white whiskers, 
and the hearty laugh of conscious humour, 
opposite to them. Mrs. Dexterous, Maurice, 
a merry, talkative little actress, and a man who 
would not talk to her because he was bewitched 
by Constance's beauty, occupied one side, and 
Julia, Mr. Herbert, two hunting souls and a 
lad made up the other. 

Maurice had not been at all ill-pleased to 
take in Mrs. Dexterous, thinking it a good 
opportunity to deliver his brother’s message, 
and, incidentally, to see for himself what sort 
of woman she was. That she was handsome 
he could not deny — not with the cold, still, 
starlight beauty of Constance, nor the subtle, 
222 


RUMOURS 


changing April charm of Julia, but like a warm, 
breezy, sunshine-flooded day. He looked at 
the beautiful, fresh pink-and-white of her colour- 
ing and the rather too even edges of her very 
white teeth, which showed when she smiled ; 
at her firm throat and broad, creamy shoulders, 
and did not blame Gilbert very much if he had 
enjoyed hours spent in the society of anything 
so good to look at and so gloriously alive. 
Her conversation was a slight shock to a sober- 
minded man, but it was certainly amusing. 

But feel my arm,’’ she was saying to the 
lawyer, who had been complimenting her on 
her prowess in the field. “ I ’m just like that 
all over. It would take more than that to tire 
me.” 

The eminent gentleman, who had furtively 
laid a few fingers on the marble member prof- 
fered him, hastily withdrew them, as if he feared 
he might be called upon to make further tests, 
and plunged his nose into his champagne glass. 

“ It ’s funny how people change,” she went 
on, turning to Maurice, whom she had so far 
ignored. ‘‘ I used to be a thin, delicate girl, 
who had not the strength of a rat nor the spirit 
of a mouse, and always cried when anything 
223 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

agitated her. I remember I cried for a month 
because I thought they would not let me marry 
Dan (Daniel had been the name of her late 
husband), “ and then the day I was married I 
cried all the way up the aisle and all the way 
down again.** 

Cursed with a granted prayer,** said 
Maurice, impertinently. 

She looked ostentatiously perplexed for a 
moment and then smiled. 

They say you will be in that position your- 
self soon,** she answered. 

“ It ’s astonishing what idle and malicious 
people will say,** he returned tranquilly. 
“They haven*t spared you either, lately, you 
know.** 

“ I don*t want to hear what they say,** she 
laughed. 

“ And I have n*t the faintest intention of 
telling you.** 

“ I don*t think you are very amiable,** she 
said, turning her shoulder to him. 

Somehow the time did not seem very well 
chosen for the giving of Gilberts message. 
Moreover, Maurice felt he had been rude and 
must try to atone as best he could. 

224 


RUMOURS 


“ On second thoughts,” he said, “ I will be 
amiable and tell you, with a view to your future 
amendment. They say that you go about the 
earth, like a certain other enemy of mankind, 
seeking whom you may devour, and that you 
don't always stop to inquire whether you are 
poaching on other people's preserves. Grand- 
fathers, fathers, husbands, brothers — they all 
go down before you, and naturally their owners 
don't like it.” 

Mrs. Dexterous looked him full in the face 
for a minute. 

“ And neither do their brothers' keepers, 
apparently,” she said ; but before he could 
answer, her white-whiskered neighbour, who 
had sufficiently recovered from his first shock 
to be courting another, addressed her with some 
pleasant, ponderous commonplace, and she 
turned away. Maurice began to talk to the 
little actress, whose cavalier was still dazedly 
absorbed by his admiration for Constance. 

The air, warmed by the lights, was blown in 
little puffs by the women's fans. The servants 
passed swiftly to and fro, changing plates, 
pouring out champagne ; a candle shade took 
fire and had to be seized and borne off by a 
15 225 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIAN S 


stolid footman. Mr. Cacklethorpe was en- 
gaging the attention of Julia with a humorous 
story, the point of which had just slipped his 
memory. John Herbert was listening to and 
watching the lady of his unacknowledged af- 
fections. The fragments of talk pieced them- 
selves together oddly. 

And I 'd quite forgot my lines, you see,” 
from the actress. “ And as for my collar 
button, it was lost down my back, somehow,” 
said Mr. Cacklethorpe, giving up the point of 
his story. ‘‘Nobody knows what she suffered 
with that man, my dear,” his wife’s voice could 
be heard. “ And I could n’t but feel it was a 
dispensation of Providence when he had to be 
locked up.” “ But I had his hoofs cut off and 
mounted as inkstands for my most intimate 
friends,” said the sporting lady. “ And every- 
one in Paris knows how perfectly disreputable 
they are,” exclaimed Marian’s clear, loud voice. 
“ Why, they dyed their hair red and took to 
skating in white velvet knickerbockers ! Dear 
old Mr. Donaldson was so scandalised the first 
day he saw them that he could hardly take his 
eyes off them.” 

“ Do you mean to say my father has taken 
226 


RUMOURS 


to skating ? asked Maurice, in some surprise, 
addressing Mrs. Dexterous. 

“ Oh, no,** she said, laughing. “ He liked 
to go with me when I skated at the cercle. We 
were great friends, your father and I. By the 
way, I had a letter from him the other day, and 
he spoke of coming over soon. He *s the 
dearest old gentleman in the world, and I am 
devoted to him. You must be sure to ask me 
to come and dine with you the very first night 
he comes. I know he *d like it.** 

But Maurice, for once, was incapable of 
reply. An astounding thought had struck 
him. Could it be ? Mrs. Cacklethorpe*s 
gossip, which Constance had repeated to them 
as a good joke ; the mysterious letter to Gil- 
bert, the mere fact of his father*s having written 
to Mrs. Dexterous, — all these things flashed 
through his mind, and were dismissed as ridicu- 
lous and impossible. Still, old gentlemen did 
sometimes do astounding things. 

When he recovered himself Mrs. Cackle- 
thorpe was making the signal for departure, 
and the women gradually melted out of the 
room. Then he remembered that he had 
never given Gilbert*s message, and supposed, 
227 




UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

with a sigh, that he must manage it later. He 
was among the first men to enter the drawing- 
room, and seeing the lady standing alone by 
the window, strolled up to her with such evi- 
dent intention that the sporting gentleman, 
who greatly desired to talk to her, was reluct- 
antly obliged to abandon his purpose. She 
turned as Maurice paused beside her, and 
looked at him in some astonishment, for she 
had expected the approaching steps to be 
those of John Herbert. 

I 'm not going to stay,” he said, laughing. 
“There are too many people in line, but I 
forgot at dinner to give you a forlorn message 
from my brother, who regrets extremely that 
he is obliged to go to town to-morrow and 
cannot therefore go somewhere or do some- 
thing delightful in your society.” 

“ Oh,” returned Mrs. Dexterous, frankly, 
“ that ’s all right ; we were only going to drive. 
There *s a golf match at the club. Are n’t 
you going ? ” 

“I may,” he answered. “It all depends 
on — ” he checked himself at the pronunciation 
of his lady’s name, and before he could go on 
Marian interrupted him. She had seen Mr. 

228 


RUMOURS 


Herbert stealthily working his way round to 
her by the four walls (he being in that state 
of lunacy when a circuitous manner of approach 
is believed to render the approacher all but 
invisible), and resolved to punish him for his 
tardiness and lack of spirit. 

“ If it depends upon me,” she said hastily, 
“ I say the match, by all means. You were 
going to ask me, were n’t you, dear Mr. Mau- 
rice? And you may feel quite free, as far as 
your house-party is concerned, for I know 
Miss Silverton is going with Mr. Herbert. 
He is quite attentive to her, is n’t he ? I 
wonder if he means business this time ? ” 

If there were anyone who had reason not to 
wonder it was herself, seeing that the bewitched 
artist had been trembling on the verge of a 
passionate proposal to her three times that 
afternoon, but she felt that he was not quite 
ardent enough yet, and she knew very well 
that if one has a rival the part of wisdom is to 
force her companionship upon the gentleman 
one wishes to disenchant. So she lied boldly 
and trusted to her further ingenuity to arrange 
the second part of her plan. 

“ I ’m afraid there is some mistake,” said 
229 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


Maurice. “ I am quite sure Miss Silverton 
promised to drive with me, otherwise, of 
course, I should be delighted to take my 
brother's place." 

“Then that's an engagement," she cried, 
with a mischievous laugh. “You will find it 
is all arranged, dear Mr. Donaldson." 

He gave her a polite but incredulous bow 
and took his departure as Herbert joined 
her. 

“You were a long time in coming, my good 
friend," she observed reproachfully. “ If you 
had been a little quicker you might have saved 
me from rather an awkward predicament. 
Gilbert Donaldson cannot drive me to-morrow 
afternoon, and Maurice said he should be de- 
lighted to take me if he thought you would 
look after Miss Silverton. I had to say some- 
thing, so I answered I was sure you would." 

“Maurice, too!" growled John Herbert. 
“By Jove, you're insatiable! Can’t you 
even spare a man who is supposed to be just 
engaged ? " 

“I'm not so sure he is engaged. You 
would n't have thought so if you had heard 
us taiking. These rumours about people some- 
230 


RUMOURS 


times have no foundation. Besides, what could 
I do ? Cry out, ‘ No, you must go with your 
own fiancee ; I want Mr. Herbert ' — not know- 
ing whether she was his fiancee, any more than I 
knew if — I wanted Mr. Herbert. I hope I 
am more discreet than that. Come, and 
we dl settle it with her now. She looks bored 
to death among those men. And then I shall 
slip away quietly. Shall I give you a lift 
home ? ” 

She managed to pause just long enough by 
Julia’s chair to arrange matters, giving the 
impression that Maurice was rather under 
obligations to drive her — as indeed he was, 
though not of his own seeking — and then 
disappeared, taking the artist with her. 

Her departure stirred the surface of con- 
versation a little, and the party soon afterward 
broke up, to the joy of stiff coachmen and 
stamping horses. 

‘‘ What did Mrs. Dexterous say to you 
about to-morrow, Julia?’' asked Maurice, as 
they were driving home. “ I felt mischief in 
the air.” 

“ She told me more or less plainly that she 
wanted to go with you,” returned Miss Silver- 
231 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

ton, but she wanted me to imagine something 
very different.” 

“Well, I haven’t the faintest intention of 
going with her. I am driving with you.” 

“ Oh, you ’d much better,” said Julia, not 
sorry to show Constance her superior methods. 
“ It ’s all arranged now, and I ’ve promised to 
go with Mr. Herbert.” 

All the same, she felt a little more tired in 
body and spirit than she could account for. 
She said she was sleepy and settled herself 
back in her corner with closed eyes, but some- 
how under the lids danced little pictures of 
Maurice at table with Mrs. Dexterous, Mau- 
rice talking to her again after dinner, and 
Maurice as he might look talking to her when 
Julia was not observing them. Nobody spoke 
until the carriage stopped at the door. The 
correct Puffles stood in the hall ready to receive 
them. 

“ You do look sleepy,” said Maurice, as he 
helped Julia out. “And I fancy you are cold, 

too. That is an absurd little garment to be 
out in on an Autumn night. Come into the 
library, by the fire, and have a glass of sherry 
or something. Puffles, bring some sherry or 

232 


RUMOURS 


port for Miss Silverton. What are you going 
to have, Constance ? 

Constance yawned. I 'm not going to sit 
up and chaperone you two,” she said ; I am 
going straight to bed. Good-night, Julia, 
and remember, I don't approve of ignoring 
things.” 

“ What on earth is she talking about ? ” 
asked Maurice. 

‘‘ Oh, it is n't anything. It does n’t matter. 
Nothing matters but our liking each other,” 
exclaimed Julia, patting his shoulder as he 
poured out her port. ‘‘ I did n't care much 
for the dinner to-night; did you, Maurice?” 

“ Care for it ! ” he echoed. I thought it 
was the most infernal evening I ever spent.” 

And so are we rewarded for entertaining our 
friends ; but Julia went off to bed feeling 
distinctly comforted, and her dreams were of 
pleasant things. 

Maurice, on the contrary, saw his father 
skating vigorously round and round the cercle 
after Mrs. Dexterous, who was following John 
Herbert, while Gilbert pursued Mr. Donaldson 
and Maurice pursued Gilbert. 

He was careful, however, to say nothing 

233 


jJT-Tlii'Tr.JiL: 


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about either his dreams or his suspicions to 
his brother next day. The thing was pre- 
posterous. 

Constance, having, perhaps, some inkling 
of her husband’s reason for flying to town, 
resolutely opposed it, and rather than quarrel 
with her again he permitted himself to be 
absolutely flaunted in the face of Mrs. Dexter- 
ous and the public. But he must have made 
explanations of a kind in private, for the lady 
was not less gracious than usual when they 
met at the golf match, and only asked him 
when he did go to town if he would be so 
good as to bring her a certain new kind of bit 
she saw advertised, warranted to control the 
most confirmed runaway. 

So things went on peacefully enough for the 
next few days. The sun shone, and the wind 
blew, and the trees turned red, and people 
walked and talked, and abused each other for 
distinctive virtues and found excuses for mutual 
faults, and dined together, and commented on 
the dinners, and told all the funny little stories 
they knew about the diners. Mrs. Cackle- 
thorpe said that it was the very pleasantest 
Autumn she had spent at Meadowford. Not 
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one single scandal, my dear, and everybody out 
in the open air all day, which was so healthy. 
Of course, one couldn’t help noticin’ that 
Marian Dexterous was settin’ her cap for the 
other Donaldson, and, mark her words, that 
would be the next gossip. Which, if her 
words were marked, was true enough. As a 
matter of fact, Maurice, haunted by occasional 
filial fears, did study Mrs. Dexterous more or 
less attentively from different points of view. 
Julia did n’t quite like it, but convinced, as she 
could not help being, of his love for herself, 
she resolved to conceal the surprise that even 
his spasmodic interest in Marian occasioned 
her. She was a person of resources, too, and 
though she knew she could never rival Mrs. 
Dexterous in the hunting-field, she was aware 
that to teach a pretty, clever woman anything 
is far from disagreeable to a man, so she sent 
for her habit and announced her intention of 
riding with Maurice, if he did not mind giving 
her the benefit of his instruction on the off 
days. She did not consider it necessary to 
mention the extent of her experience, which, 
although not great — for she was timid with 
horses — was enough to raise her above the 

235 


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average, and on the first occasion of their going 
out together he was enchanted by her pluck 
and progress. 

“ Why, you will be cutting down the field 
in no time, Julia,” he said, with pride. “ I dl 
tell you what, Gilbert won't be riding to-mor- 
row — he 's going to town — and he shall lend 
you The Prophet. He 's steady as a church 
and does n’t pull an ounce, and we will go out 
and lark a bit in the afternoon, and I ’ll give 
you a lesson in jumping.” 

Inwardly alarmed, but outwardly as bold as 
a lion, Julia said that nothing would give her 
more pleasure, and scanned the sky anxiously 
in search of some promise of stormy weather. 
She had not prepared herself to go to quite 
such lengths as leaping for a lover, but she 
was determined not to falter now. 

“ The Prophet is a pretty big beast,” she 
said, dubiously. “ I suppose I shall feel as if 
I were flying over the moon. I hope I can 
manage him.” 

Finest sensation in the world. You ’ll 
love it,” mumbled Maurice, who was lighting 
a cigarette. “ And you ’ll look awfully well on 
him, my pretty little lady.” 

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“ I ’d ride a griffin if you said that to me, 
dear,’* said Julia, demurely. 

“But if you knew how much I want to 
kiss you when you say those things you ’d be 
more careful on the public highway,” replied 
Maurice; and so they rode home in great 
peace and amity with themselves and all the 
world, though Julia felt many misgivings and 
sudden faintings of the heart whenever she 
thought of the expedition to which she was 
committed. 

Fate, however, intervened in her behalf, for, 
although the weather was fair, Gilbert in town, 
and The Prophet at her disposal, Maurice him- 
self was obliged to cry off. He had received, 
he told her in the course of the morning, a 
telephone message from the club demanding 
his presence at a special meeting for the dis- 
ciplining of a certain refractory member, and as 
the refractory one was a friend of his — a mere 
boy, whom he considered more sinned against 
than sinning — he wished to be present to see 
fair play. 

Julia heartily agreed, and came out on the 
steps after luncheon to wave him a forgiving 
and relieved farewell as the Hempstead cart 
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disappeared out of the gate. Constance and 
she took the dogs for a walk and returned 
about four o’clock, to find that Mrs. Cackle- 
thorpe, Mrs. Bramble, Mrs. Bramble’s pretty 
daughter. Rose, and two or three men had 
driven over to tea. 

Everybody was in good spirits, including 
the dogs, who stood on each side of Mrs. 
Donaldson, barking for biscuits in the most 
engaging way. 

‘‘ And so you have been for a walk. Miss 
Silverton ? ” said Mrs. Cacklethorpe. “You 
ought to ride, you know ; great thing for 
keepin’ young, they say, not that you need 
trouble about that for some time yet, but all 
the girls ride here. It’s the only way they 
can see the men. Yes.” 

“We have managed to see several by staying 
at home,” answered Julia, good-humouredly. 
Mrs. Cacklethorpe always amused her. “ But 
as it happens, I had been going to ride this 
afternoon, only Mr. Donaldson was obliged to 
go to some meeting of the Meadowford Club. 
Now you see how fortunate it is, for I am not 
missing your visit.” 

But by this time Mrs. Cacklethorpe’s eyes 
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were wandering about the room, and she did 
not appear to have heard the compliment. 

“ My dear,” she said in a loud whisper to 
Mrs. Bramble, ‘‘why don’t you marry your 
girl to young Mongoose there — an only son? 
Father dead. Money secure. Mother a hand- 
some woman, who may marry again any day. 
Stories about her ? Well, yes, of course, but 
you could afford to ignore them.” 

Mrs. Bramble’s sharp little nose went up in 
the air. 

“ I ’m in no haste to marry my daughter to 
anybody, Mrs. Cacklethorpe,” she said. “ I 
am not in favour of early marriages. I think 
girls improve by being kept under home in- 
fluence as long as possible. Not even brought 
out, you know, until they are quite mature.” 

“Well, my dear,” returned that lady, “you 
may be right. But I tried that plan with an 
English waterproof I once bought, and it did n’t 
do. I kep’ it and kep’ it and kep’ it, and 
when I took it out it all went to splits. I 
would n’t answer for it that girls might n’t do 
the same.” 

Julia fell into such ill-concealed fits of laugh- 
ter at this that she was obliged to get up and 

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join Miss Bramble and Mr. Mongoose at the 
window. They were discussing whether a 
brown spot above the trees was or was not the 
observatory on the top of Scrabble Hill. The 
two other men were drawn into the argument, 
and Constance was appealed to for field-glasses. 
She provided some old ones from the hall table 
and then recollected that she had given Gilbert 
a beautiful new pair — the very latest thing in 
field-glasses — for his birthday, and went out 
of the room to fetch them. 

When she came back the whole party was 
assembled at the window, greatly interested in 
the evolutions of two horsemen, or rather a 
horseman and a horsewoman (as described by 
Mr. Mongoose, who happened to have the 
glasses), who were apparently riding a race 
across country. 

‘‘ Can’t you see yet who they are ? ” cried 
Mrs. Cacklethorpe. 

Constance raised the more powerful glasses 
to her own eyes. ‘‘ It ’s Gilbert,” she said in 
a low, angry voice to Julia, who stood beside 
her. “ Gilbert and Marian. I suppose he 
had his horse sent to the station to meet him, 
and then joined her somewhere. It is really 
240 


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too much, but she will be sorry for it, and so 
will he.” 

They are coming awfully fast, whoever 
they are,” said Mr. Mongoose. “ I almost 
think the lady’s horse is running away.” 

She ’s down ! ” cried Constance. She ’s 
down ! What an awful-looking fall ! Is the 
horse up ? Oh, I hope she is n’t hurt ! ” 

“ How did it happen ? ” Do you know 
who it is ? ” “ How far off are they ? ” Send 

my carriage.” A perfect babel of voices broke 
out. 

“ I ’m afraid it ’s Mrs. Dexterous. Her 
horse fell at a fence. They were coming too 
fast, as Mr. Mongoose says — I think she is 
up again, but I ’m afraid she must be hurt. 
If you will allow me, Mrs. Bramble, I ’ll send 
your carriage. I think they are pretty near 
the station road.” 

‘‘There’s somebody driving along in a 
Hempstead cart,” said Julia, who had picked 
up the glasses. “ It must be Maurice. There ! 
He ’s stopped, and they are walking across 
the fields to him ; she can’t be much hurt, 
after all. I am so glad ! ” 

“ The groom’s got out and she ’s got in,” 
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said Mr. Mongoose, continuing in a serial 
manner. “ And the groom is going to lead 
her horse home. The man who was riding 
with her is coming along again across country. 
Jove, he can ride 1 ” And the young gentle- 
man stood silent in admiration. 

‘‘ Well, I think we ought to be going, Mrs. 
Donaldson,” said Mrs. Bramble. “ I hope 
we shall find the accident has not been serious. 
Very likely we may meet them on the road 
and I may be able to find out about it.” 

My dear, I 'm not goin* just yet,” de- 
clared Mrs. Cacklethorpe. “ There 's no 
tellin’ what has happened, and it *s better 
to be on the spot, and then you know the 
truth of it if anybody asks you. They are 
cornin’ this way, are n’t they ” she anxiously 
inquired of Mr. Mongoose. 

The cart is hidden by the woods,” he 
said, but the man on horseback turned in at 
this gate.” 

As he spoke, hasty steps crossed the piazza, 
and Maurice Donaldson entered the room ; he 
had evidently been riding fast and furiously. 

I wish you would telephone for the doctor, 
Constance,” he said. ‘‘ Mrs. Dexterous has 
242 


RUMOURS 


had a fall. I think she is only badly shaken, 
but one never can tell, and it 's safer to have 
Wise’s opinion.” 

“ I tell him to come here^ I suppose,” 
said Constance, quietly. She was invaluable 
in all emergencies and never asked unneces- 
sary questions. 

Yes,” he returned. “ Gilbert is driving 
her here.” 

He was so occupied in answering the eager 
questions put to him that he hardly noticed 
the fact that Julia neither spoke nor looked 
at him. 

But Mrs. Cacklethorpe noticed, and did 
not need to guess the reason. 


Ill 

Mrs. Dexterous’s fall, being followed by 
no serious consequences to herself, soon ceased 
to be the subject of gossip in Meadowford. 
For when, as was the case with the curse of 
the Jackdaw of Rheims, “ nobody seems one 
penny the worse ” for an accident, people 
soon lose interest in discussing it. But it had 

243 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


not been without effect on the Donaldson 
household. Julia, clinging resolutely to her 
principles, had asked no explanation from 
Maurice, but Constance soon wrung from the 
reluctant Gilbert an admission that he had 
ordered his horse to meet him at the club, 
and had driven there from the station for the 
purpose of riding with Marian. He had, in 
obedience to orders, brought her down a new 
bit which she was anxious to try on a pulling 
horse, but being himself in great pain and 
half-blinded by a cinder that had got into his 
eye on the way down, he had later, finding 
Maurice at the club, begged his brother to 
keep the engagement for him, and driven at 
once to the doctor’s. This seemed simple 
and natural enough. Gilbert was incapacitated, 
and since the lady insisted on riding a danger- 
ous horse, it appeared to be the duty of a man 
and a brother to get into such riding clothes 
as he kept on the spot, and do his best to look 
after her. 

The bit had not proved much of a success ; 
the horse had got out of her hand and had 
given her a rattling fall. That was all there 
was to it. Julia understood perfectly, of 

244 


RUMOURS 


course. No one could help understanding 
how it happened. 

All the same, Julia wished she had been 
less confidential to Mrs. Cacklethorpe that 
afternoon. It gave her an uncomfortable 
feeling every time she thought about it and 
remembered that lady's half-amused, half-pity- 
ing look when Maurice came in. 

She had ridden only once since that day. 
He said his nerve was shaken, and he would 
not have her risk her neck riding across 
country, and she thought he could not enjoy 
just pottering about among the lanes. So the 
rides were discontinued, and Miss Silverton 
was embarrassed by no further offers of a 
mount on The Prophet, about which she 
had her own thoughts. 

Constance noticed that both Maurice and 
Gilbert seemed preoccupied and held frequent 
consultations. She questioned her husband, 
but for once that easy-going person was dis- 
creet and kept his own counsel. 

It would never do to show Constance 
the letter I got from Alice the other day," he 
said. She'd be for locking up the old 
gentleman at once, or doing something very 

245 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

decided. I ’m all for peace and persuasion. 
I don’t think he ’ll really do it.” 

“ And I don’t see that we can possibly 
interfere if he does,” returned Maurice. If 
he chooses to marry a young woman, and she 
chooses to accept him, what are we to do about 
it ? He ’s quite independent of us.” 

^‘And we are quite independent of him, 
thank Heaven ! ” said Gilbert, piously. But 
no man likes to have his father make a fool of 
himself at the ripe age of seventy, especially 
when he has lived until then a godly, right- 
eous and sober life, respected by all who know 
him. Hang it all ! I feel I must remonstrate 
with him, talk to him like — like an uncle 
you know.” 

Maurice laughed. It was n’t so long ago 
that Constance was talking to you on the 
same subject.” 

“ But not like an uncle,” observed Gilbert. 
‘‘ I ’m afraid the fact of her being a woman 
and my wife interfered a little with the exer- 
cise of that calm judgment which should be 
brought to bear on an affair of this kind. I 
say, Maurice, I don’t believe Mrs. D. would 
do it, even if the governor means business. I 
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RUMOURS 


don’t think she is that kind. What do you 
think ? ” 

“ It depends a good deal on what you mean 
by ‘ that kind.’ ” 

“ Why, the kind of young woman who 
marries an old man for money.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Maurice. “ Well, there seem 
to be a good many subdivisions of even that 
kind, and I ’m not prepared to say. Let me 
see Alice’s letter again. I wonder why she 
sent it to the club.” 

I wonder why, too. If I had n’t happened 
to go to town that day I should not have 
got it at all, most likely. At any rate, not 
before he landed.” 

“ I don’t suppose it would have made much 
difference,” said Maurice, reading : — 

My dear Gilbert, — Papa has suddenly an- 
nounced his intention of sailing on the 9th. He 
refuses to take me with him, pleading the suddenness 
of the start and the shortness of his probable stay. 
He says it is business of a private and important 
nature, but I heard him tell old General Blunderbuss 
(with whom he is more confidential than he is with 
me) that ‘‘ one could not be too careful in dealing 
with a woman whose reputation might suffer for ever 
247 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


if one made a mistake.” You know how chivalrous 
the dear old gentleman is, and, remembering the 
great admiration he had for her when she was in 
Paris, and what rumours were started at the time, I 
cannot help fearing that he has determined to marry 
Marian Dexterous, and is following her to America 
for the purpose of proposing to her. What can be 
done? Would she accept him, do you think? The 
whole thing is most distasteful to me, and would be 
unfortunate in many ways for all of us. I suppose 
we cannot prevent it if he has made up his mind and 
she chooses to say “Yes,” but if you find any 
opportunity — where it would not do more harm than 
good — try to dissuade him. You may imagine how 
anxious I am. He has been in a perfect fever to 
get off ever since he received a letter from Constance 
telling us all the news of Meadowford. He was 
awfully pleased at the idea of Maurice’s probable en- 
gagement to that pretty Miss Silverton, and said her 
father had been one of his oldest friends, but that 
is evidently not the cause of this hurried visit 

‘‘Well,” said Maurice, folding up the letter 
and returning it to his brother, “ as I said 
before, there is nothing to be done but to wait 
developments. And in spite of all this, I can- 
not believe that my father wants to marry Mrs. 
Dexterous, nor she him. It’s too ridiculous.” 

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RUMOURS 


I don’t know ; he ’s a devilish fine-looking 
old gentleman, and well supplied with this 
world’s goods.” 

“Not as well as he was before he divided 
things among us,” said Maurice. 

“ But she may n’t know that,” suggested 
Gilbert. “We might drop a hint to Mrs. 
Cacklethorpe. Something about an indigent 
parent, you know. Or you might go in and 
cut him out before he arrives. Let me see, 
he left on the 9th. That was — why, he’ll 
be here directly. He ought to arrive next 
Saturday.” 

“ I ’m afraid that won’t give me time 
enough,” answered Maurice, drily. “ Throw 
me a cigarette, will you ? I have left my case 
upstairs.” 

“ Where are you going ? ” asked Gilbert, 
as his brother left the room. 

“To see if I can find Julia. This is too 
good a day to waste in the house,” returned 
Maurice, and whistling to the dogs, he 
departed. 

But Julia was not to be found easily. He 
made a tour of the downstairs rooms ; he 
interviewed her maid, whom he had happened to 
249 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


meet in the hall ; he walked through the con- 
servatory, and was just starting down the steps 
to the garden when he met William, the 
footman, coming up with some late flowers 
and Autumn leaves that he had been collecting 
for table decoration, and on making inquiries 
from him learned that Miss Silverton had left 
the house some minutes since, alone, to the 
best of William’s knowledge and belief, and 
going, as he imagined, for a walk. 

Maurice informed himself of the direction 
she had taken and sauntered after her. He 
wondered why she had not waited a little 
longer, or sent word to him, if she had been 
in a hurry to start. They had not exactly 
made an engagement, but they had spoken of 
walking after luncheon. One can never be 
too particular when one’s business is a woman,” 
thought Maurice, turning down the road to 
the left, as he conjectured, from certain little 
heel-marks in the stiffened mud at the side, 
that Julia must have done. The sun was still 
warm and the air soft, the green fir-trees began 
to show conspicuously among the yellowing 
birches and liquid ambers, and all the distances 
were veiled in a blue and purple haze. Mau- 
250 


RUMOURS 


rice threw away the end of his cigarette and 
stopped to light a pipe, and the dogs scrambled 
up the bank and chased imaginary small game 
among the dead leaves. 

Resuming his line of march again more 
briskly, Mr. Donaldson came round a corner 
to a place where he could command a long 
stretch of road, and where his eyes expected to 
light on the slim figure of his lady-love trip- 
ping along at no very great distance ahead of 
him, but, somewhat to his astonishment, no 
such figure was to be seen. ‘‘ She can’t have 
got so far off if she only left the house a few 
minutes before I did,” he said to himself. 
“ The earth must have opened and swallowed 
her up,” and then a sudden sharp stab went 
through his heart as it struck him that the 
sentence would only be true when she was 
dead — his pretty, gentle little lady, whom he 
loved tenderly and passionately, and in all the 
ways a man should love a woman. He put 
the thought away from him with a mental 
shudder, and strode on quickly, but with no 
particular purpose. You cannot follow a lady 
as the King followed Madame Blaize unless 
she has walked before, and he began to think 

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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

William had been misguiding him, that, what- 
ever direction Julia had taken, it was not this 
one. 

Far down ahead of him he saw the cottage 
at the crossroads, and he wondered how Her- 
bert liked his quarters, and whether he had 
done anything in the way of alteration. It 
might not be a bad plan if Julia and he owned 
such a little house for the Spring and Autumn. 
How amusing it would be to keep house with 
Julia ! She would affect such a charming 
simplicity about the ordinary commonplaces 
of daily life. She would make such nice little 
stories out of her own mistakes, and insist so 
strenuously on being praised for her good inten- 
tions. A reasonable woman pretending to be 
unreasonable is a most entrancing companion. 
He had watched her at dinner the night before, 
talking to Herbert. She had such a pretty, 
quiet way of speaking. She permitted herself 
no mannerisms of facial expression when she 
talked, as so many women — even handsome 
women like his neighbour, Marian Dexterous 
— did, and he had thought her by far the most 
charming person he had ever seen, the one 
who best satisfied his taste. He had said so 
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to Mrs. Dexterous — why did people always 
put him next to her at dinners now ? — who 
at once agreed, with suspicious cordiality, and 
he had tried to tell Julia herself, later, some- 
thing of the way he felt, poor as words were 
to express it, but she had seemed less respon- 
sive than usual. And then Gilbert had come 
in and interrupted them. That was rather 
funny. He smiled involuntarily as he remem- 
bered. They had been standing in front of 
the fire, and just as he had begun to make 
Julia smile that nice, demure little smile of 
hers at some of the things he was saying, 
Gilbert had come hastily into the room, ex- 
claiming, “ I say, Maurice, I must speak to 
you seriously about this affair of Mrs. Dexter- 
ous’s — ” and had stopped short, with his 
mouth open in surprise, on finding that his 
brother was not alone. Discretion was not 
Gilbert’s strong point, and if rumours of his 
father’s infatuation for the handsome widow 
did not get about, it would not be his fault. 
Not that it made any difference if Julia knew ; 
he had half a mind to tell her himself, only it 
did not seem quite fair. 

He had reached this point in his meditations 

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when he suddenly become aware that two 
people had come out of the cottage, which by 
that time he had nearly reached, and were 
rapidly approaching him. One of them was 
John Herbert and the other Julia. 

Maurice was taken by surprise for an 
instant, but only for an instant. 

“ You have stolen my lady, Herbert,’' he 
said, as they met, “ and I am in hot pursuit. 
I was under the impression that Miss Silverton 
was going to walk with me this afternoon.” 

“And Miss Silverton has been to see Mr. 
Herbert’s pictures instead,” answered Julia. 
“ A private exhibition, especially for her ; and 
very beautiful they are. But I don’t think 
we made any positive engagement to walk, 
did we ? ” she asked, looking at Maurice for 
the first time, and appearing, he thought, a 
little less at her ease than usual. 

“Won’t you both come back, and we will 
appease Donaldson with strong drink, while 
your old friend, Mrs. Minching, the house- 
keeper, will give you and me some afternoon 
tea ? ” suggested Mr. Herbert. 

“ I ’m afraid I must not stop for that,” said 
Miss Silverton, “ especially as strong drink is 
254 


RUMOURS 


not one of Mr. Donaldson’s weaknesses, and 
therefore we could not appease him in that 
way. If he is really angry I had better let 
him take me home at once. I suppose he 
feels responsible to his sister-in-law for my 
safe conduct. Good-bye, Mr. Herbert ; thank 
you so much ! ” 

Mr. Herbert laughed at this sudden dis- 
missal, lifted his cap from his red crest of hair 
and turned away, but the next instant Julia’s 
voice called after him, — 

“ You ’ll work at once on the particular 
picture I like, won’t you ? ” 

“ On Friday,” he answered, laughing again, 
please the gods.” 

Maurice and his companion walked on to- 
gether in silence for some minutes. The pink 
glow of the sunset was on their faces, but the 
air had grown sharper, and Julia shivered. 

“ I ought to have taken off my jacket while 
I was looking at the pictures,” she said. “ I 
was too hot then, and now I am too cold.” 

‘Mt would have been wiser,” returned 
Maurice, agreeably. Were you amused? 
Did he show you pretty things and tell you 
nice stories ? ” 


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‘‘ You talk as if I were a little girl/' observed 
Miss Silverton, sweetly. 

‘‘ And so you are, the nicest little girl in the 
world — only I don't think you ought to let 
your particular playfellow wander about alone 
this lovely afternoon, while you flirt in corners 
with attractive artists." 

Julia looked up at him. She would like to 
have exclaimed, with Carmefiy ^eje meiire si 
tu n es fas jalouxl " But there was no trace of 
anything approaching jealousy to be seen upon 
Mr. Donaldson's impressive face. 

We talked only of paintings," she said in- 
differently, “and did not flirt at all. He is 
always my very good friend." 

“With a man like Herbert the very-good- 
friend stage either precedes or follows the other. 
Let us strike out the ^ always,' and as for flirt- 
ing, you know, Julia, that we have flirted when 
discussing subjects far less romantic than 
painting." 

“ Such as what, for instance ? " inquired 
Miss Silverton, with languid curiosity. She 
was getting rather angry, though she could 
not show it. 

“Well, buttons was the last subject that we 
256 


RUMOURS 


discussed flirtatiously,” said Maurice, with an 
air of interested recollection. 

‘‘ Buttons ! ” echoed Julia. ‘‘What are you 
talking about ? ” 

“ Yes. At least, I believe it was not a button, 
after all, but a sleeve-link. Don’t you remem- 
ber ? We were sitting on the sofa, and in 
moving a cushion behind you — I believe I 
am correct in saying that I was moving the 
cushion — my sleeve-link caught in the lace of 
your waist, and I said (what I did does not 
matter), ‘ That would be difficult to explain if 
anyone came in suddenly,’ and you said, ‘ Yes, 
difficult to explain, but not hard to understand.’ 
You said it so nicely ! I love the way you say 
things and the way you look when you say 
them.” 

The ways Miss Silverton looked at that 
moment were too many and various to be fol- 
lowed by a mere man. She was puzzled, un- 
easy, indignant, and, in spite of herself, a little 
amused, all at the same time. She had gone 
to the studio according to an appointment made 
with Mr. Herbert at dinner, when she had been 
particularly exasperated by the conduct of 
affairs opposite. Later, Gilbert’s unfortunate 
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remark had not tended to smooth matters, and 
it was with the most deliberately malicious in- 
tentions that she had set out that afternoon. 
Constance, who was to have accompanied her, 
being detained at the last moment, she had 
gone alone. She had expressed admiration 
judiciously, she had recalled old days with just 
the proper undercurrent of suppressed regret, 
she had promised to sit for her picture again — 
those last sittings which he reminded her were 
still his to claim — in fact, she had flirted 
abominably, and therefore felt quite pleasantly 
excited and guilty when she so suddenly came 
face to face with Maurice in the road. She 
had been ready to refuse explanations, and he 
had asked for none. She had been prepared 
to defend herself, and he had given her no 
chance. She had meant to be indifferent and 
rather cold, and he reminded her of an incident 
which, while mischievously emphasising their 
serious relations, could not be taken seriously. 
He was certainly very clever, was Maurice, and 
so she allowed the corner of her mouth to curve 
a little — the corner which was farthest from 
him. 

I am glad my expression is satisfactory,” 
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she said serenely. “I am very fortunate 
to be able to please you with so little trouble 
to myself.” 

“ Oh, I dare say you will have trouble 
enough before you have done with it,” returned 
Mr. Donaldson, impersonally. “ 1 am very 
hard to please on Mondays, Wednesdays, and 
Fridays.” 

Julia laughed outright. ‘‘And this is 
Wednesday,” she said. “What a remarkable 
coincidence it would be if I had happened not 
to please you to-day ! ” 

“ Oh, but you have. Your delightfully 
dignified, demure, frightened, guilty yet tri- 
umphant expression when I met you with 
Herbert just now was a sight for the gods. 
You could n’t do anything like anybody else in 
the world, could you, my sweetheart? You 
knew you had been naughty, and you meant to 
be naughtier, and at first you were afraid I 
should notice it too much, and then you were 
afraid I was not going to notice it at all, and 
now ” 

“And now,” cried Julia, highly incensed, 
“ I am afraid that I shall lose my temper if we 
discuss the matter any further. Upon my 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


word ! when it comes to noticing things I think 
you had better extend the same latitude to my 
conduct that I do to yours/' 

‘‘An implied accusation/’ exclaimed Maurice, 
with satisfaction. “ I was hoping it might 
come to that. Now we shall know where we 
stand. And what do you observe about my 
conduct that does not please your Majesty ? ” 

“ Nothing,” returned Miss Silverton, hastily, 
seeing herself almost entrapped into the ad- 
mission of having remarked a state of affairs 
which she had determined to ignore. “ Noth- 
ing. And therefore, as I find no fault with 
your behaviour, I trust that you will save your- 
self the trouble of finding fault with mine.” 

“Don’t mention it,” said Maurice; “it’s a 
pleasure to find fault with you. You have no 
idea how meekness becomes you.” 

“ I never felt less meek in my life !” flashed 
out Julia. 

“And yet you look perfectly cowed,” re- 
turned Mr. Donaldson, looking at her criti- 
cally. “ Almost as if you were going to 
cry.” 

“ Maurice !” cried his exasperated lady-love, 
“ if you are trying to provoke me, for some 
260 




RUMOURS 


purpose of your own, youare succeeding beyond 
your wildest expectations.” 

“And you did not set out to provoke me 
for some purpose of your own, did you, you 
patient Griselda ? ” he said, laughing. “ Oh, 
my dearest, when you know how I love you, 
why do you want to wound me, even with pin- 
pricks ? I am not jealous of Herbert, but I 
hate it that you should wish me to be. It is 
not necessary. I love you quite enough as it 
is, and I think you know it, don*t you ? ” 

“ I have had reason to be less certain, per- 
haps, lately,” murmured Julia. 

Maurice put a peremptory hand on her arm 
and stopped her short in the middle of the 
road. He looked very stern and determined. 

“ Take that back, Julia,” he said roughly. 
“You know it is absurd. As a joke it was 
all very well, but this is serious, now. I am 
in earnest. Do you really believe in your 
heart that I could care for anyone but you ? ” 
She considered for a moment, with lowered 
eyes and a heightened colour. Then she looked 
up at him frankly. “No,” she said, “I do 
not, really, in my heart, but my head has been 
getting a little bewildered. One sees things 
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and hears things and — and — The rest was 
inaudible except for the words ‘‘ Marian Dexter- 
ous and “ they said and everybody seemed 
to think,” and even these were somewhat 
muffled by being breathed against the sleeve of 
his coat. Fortunately, the twilight had fallen 
over the face of the world. 

‘‘You are certainly the sweetest little lady that 
ever lived!” declared Maurice to the four winds 
of heaven, “ but you are not easy to manage.” 

“ I am afraid I am more of a trouble than 
a pleasure to you,” returned Miss Silverton, 
shaking her head sadly. 

“ Trouble 1 ” he echoed. “ I should think 
you were 1 You need not think you are a 
pleasure. You are hard work.” 

“ Well, we know the back is fitted to the 
burden,” said Julia, laughing as she ran up the 
steps and into the house. She sang a great 
deal as she dressed for dinner and determined 
that she would give her portrait when finished 
to Maurice for a Christmas present, thus grati- 
fying everybody — herself in the posing, John 
Herbert in the painting, and Maurice in the 
receiving — and turning a mistake to good 
account. 


262 


RUMOURS 


She believed that in a way Mr. Herbert was 
still fond of her. He sought her out in 
public, and his manner in private was that 
of one who suppresses tenderness. He had 
seemed almost on the point of an explanation 
of some sort that very afternoon. She im- 
agined that he more than suspected her en- 
gagement to Maurice, and wondered if it had 
in any way revived his old feelings for her. 

Those things sometimes happen,” thought 
Julia, sagely. Of course, she had heard of 
his affair with the all-powerful Mrs. Dexter- 
ous, but for some reason or other — perhaps 
because it was a very real affair of its kind — 
it had not excited much comment at Meadow- 
ford. Rumour, which had remarked the fact 
every time Gilbert Donaldson talked to Mrs. 
Dexterous or Maurice rode with her, had 
been silent about the artist’s twilight and 
evening visits to the cottage where she lived 
with an elderly cousin to play propriety ; but, 
on the contrary, it had been most active in 
connecting Julia’s name with that of Mr. 
Herbert because he and she talked to each 
other openly and as if they liked it. 

Nevertheless, that very afternoon, could 
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Miss Silverton only have known it, the artist 
had been on the point of confessing to 
her — having got past the stage of osten- 
tatious concealment to that of maudlin gar- 
rulity — his passion for Mrs. Dexterous 
and his hopes that she was not indifferent 
to it. 

Although Julia was not vain, the confession 
would have surprised her not a little. She 
was quite ready to doubt Maurice's love, 
because it was so important to her, but John 
Herbert's half-friendly affection she had taken 
for granted, because it did not count any 
longer. Nothing really counted but Maurice, 
and though, of course, no woman could pos- 
sibly object to being admired and immortalised 
by a great artist, who did not generally paint 
portraits, it behooved one to be discreet in 
flirting with him. Not that she made any 
resolutions on the subject. She was discour- 
aged about resolutions after her lamentable 
failure of the afternoon, she who had loftily 
boasted to Constance of her inability to under- 
stand jealousy, and had proudly said, “ I 
should ignore it if I were you," on the occa- 
sion when Gilbert and Mrs. Dexterous were 
264 


RUMOURS 


in question ! ‘‘ Oh, well, I was n’t really 

jealous,” thought Julia. ‘‘ Not jealous,” only 
annoyed, and I should have ignored it if Mau- 
rice had not been so clever. By the way, he 
never denied anything. I suppose it was 
hardly worth while when there was nothing 
to deny, but it would have been more courte- 
ous — and perhaps less wise. He is wise, and 
I know he really does love me dearly, and I 
snap my fingers at Marian Dexterous. Let 
her tumble over fences and sit next to him at 
dinners as often as she pleases. She is a great, 
handsome, obvious piece of humanity, and I 
don’t know why I gave her a second thought, 
except that gossip would keep saying how 
attracted Maurice was by her. As if a man 
like Maurice could be ! Still,” with sudden 
humility, “what attracts one man attracts 
many, and she is awfully good to look at. 
Much better looking than I am, though not 
perhaps so pleasant,” concluded Miss Silver- 
ton, smiling at herself in the glass. 

She was as good as an angel all that evening 
and the next day ; as amusing, ingenuous, and 
charming as any lady could be. 

“ It is because you found fault with me,” 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


she told Maurice. “I am as likely as not to 
be good for a week now.” 

‘‘ If you are going to be any better than 
you have been,” he returned, “ I must really 
cut the long feathers in your wings.” 

It was perhaps partly owing to the neglect 
of this precaution that she managed to make 
her escape unnoticed on Friday afternoon to 
Mr. Herbert's studio, accompanied by her 
maid and a box containing a wonderful bronze- 
coloured velvet dress. 

She had almost made up her mind not to 
go, to send a polite little note excusing herself, 
and stay contentedly idling with Maurice 
instead, but to her surprise he had not seemed 
inclined to idle. A letter he received at 
luncheon had appeared to be of sufficient 
importance to require an immediate answer, 
and after that meal he had disappeared with 
Gilbert. Constance again had a headache and 
was shut up in her room, and Julia's flight 
had been so particularly easy that it lost all 
interest. 

‘‘ This is very tame,” she said plaintively, 
as Mr. Herbert received her at the door. ‘‘ I 
had hoped to make use of all my diplomacy 
266 


RUMOURS 


in arriving here unsuspected. We agreed not 
to publish our proceedings to the world, 
did n't we ? But nobody has asked me a 
single question, and here I am." 

I have been more fortunate," he answered, 
laughing. I have had to tell at least two 
distinct falsehoods on the occasion, both to 
the same person. Mrs. Dexterous asked me 
last night what I was doing this afternoon, and 
I said I could not tell — I might be painting, 
miles from here, or I might be going to town. 
And she asked me, if I went, to bring her a 
book she wanted, and I said I would, so I 
have had to send my man for it." 

“Well, that seems more satisfactory," said 
Julia, who little knew how much Mr. Herbert 
would have begrudged the afternoon had 
he not had the prospect of an evening in 
the society of the Circe who had bewitched 
him. 

John Herbert's studio was a small, bare 
room on the ground-floor which had once 
served as a “ sitting-room " to the inhabitants 
of the farmhouse. It had a funny little old 
wooden mantelpiece, painted a dull yellow, 
and the walls were covered with a gray-green 
267 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


paper that absorbed most of the light which 
the little windows used to let in, and a good 
deal of that which streamed from the large one, 
ceiling-high, which had been cut between them. 
A divan occupied one corner, and a very large, 
worn, green leather easy-chair pranced into the 
middle of the room. Easels and little paint- 
ing-tables stood about, and canvases leaned 
against the wall in layers. Julia sat in state 
upon an old carved chair mounted on four 
claret boxes, and thought how amusing it 
all was. 

" I like it better than your old studio,’’ she 
said ; that was so formal it filled one with 
awe, and so cold that it sent shivers down 
one’s back.” 

I don’t think you were much awe-struck. 
Do you remember the day you put excelsior 
whiskers round the face of my beautiful tall 
clock and dressed it in a soft hat and an old 
cloak, just as Mrs. Hamet Nailer, of Chicago, 
and her husband were about to inspect my 
famous picture, ‘ The Hillside ’ ? ” 

“Well, well, they bought it, just the same; 
it would have taken more than a clock to stop 
them after they heard the price. They knew 
268 


RUMOURS 


it must be good when they found what it was 
going to cost them. They were quite ugly 
enough, too, to have stopped the clock forever 
if I had not hidden its face.” 

“ That view of it entirely escaped me,” said 
John Herbert, shaking back his red wave of 
hair. “Your head a little more that way, if 
you please. You have the dearest little shadow 
at the corner of your mouth. I like you 
much better than my landscapes.” 

“ You did not always,” remarked Julia, 
deepening the shadow with a smile. 

“ Oh, did n’t I ? I thought that was the 
very reason — Well, never mind. I was ex- 
ceedingly in love with you, all the same.” 

“‘Your salad days, when you were green 
in judgment ! ’ As a matter of fact, I am a 
great deal nicer now,” said Miss Silverton, 
confidentially. 

“ Don’t be any nicer,” he entreated. “ I 
assure you it would be most imprudent on 
your part. I am just trembling on the verge 
of confiding my heart’s secrets to you this 
minute. Don’t smile like that. It is in- 
human, and I cannot paint it. And this must 
be a masterpiece. Why did n’t I stick to my 
269 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


first start in my trade? I really think I might 
have made a success of portraits. Only most 
people would have bored me so.” 

Julia did not answer, and he worked in 
silence for a few minutes. 

‘‘ That is a ripping colour, that dress,” he 
observed presently. 

It is the same one I sat to you in before. 
A velvet dress takes a long time to wear out, 
and a picture dress is never out of fashion. I 
hope to keep it for the next five years. It is a 
great favourite of mine.” 

I must have some relief for all that bronze- 
copper colouring, though,” screwing up his 
eyes and stepping back to look at her. You 
have not a piece of fur with you, or an opera 
cloak, or something ? ” 

‘‘ I have all sorts of things at the house,” 
she answered. Shall I send Lucinda to make 
a selection ? It won’t take her long to get 
there and back.” 

So Lucinda was despatched for the articles 
decided on, and went off rather sulkily, for she 
hated walking, except on dry pavements, with 
a line of attractive shop-windows on either side 
of her. 


270 


RUMOURS 


For a long time Julia posed and he painted 
in silence, then he put down his palette. 

Do you want to hear my heart’s secrets ? 
I mean — would it bore you to hear them?” 
he asked suddenly, with a nervous laugh. 

Don’t say it would.” 

Julia looked up, startled. “ I hope they are 
not very desperate,” she said. 

“ No, only I am really head and ears in 
love this time,” he answered, throwing down 
his brushes and approaching her. “ I sup- 
pose no fool was ever as much in love as I 
am, and I can’t keep it to myself another 
minute.” 

You — you — do you think you are wise 
to tell me ?” stammered Julia. 

“ I dare say I am not at all wise, but I know 
I cannot help it,” he returned, striding up and 
down the room with his hands in his pockets 
and a most determined expression on his face. 

Great heavens ! there is Mrs. Dexterous at 
the gate ! And I have sent my man off. Ex- 
cuse me while I rout out Mrs. Minching to 
answer the bell, or questions, or whatever is 
necessary. I suppose I had better not show 
up, as I am supposed to be in town.” 

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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


She won't be likely to come in," said Julia 
after him, reassuringly. 

But that, it appeared, was just what Mrs. 
Dexterous intended to do. 

“ I know Mr. Herbert is away," Julia heard 
her say, but he has given me permission to 
come and see his pictures whenever I please, 
and I am going to meet a friend here this after- 
noon. I suppose I may go to the studio." 

Julia sprang off the model-stand. “ I am 
afraid we are discovered," she said, as John 
Herbert returned to her side. Is n't it 
provoking ? " 

But it was a good deal more than provoking 
to hear the well-known tones of Mrs. Cackle- 
thorpe’s voice drowning those of Mrs. Dexter- 
ous at the front door. 

“ Just wait for me, my dear," she was ex- 
claiming. “ I saw you goin' up the path, and 
I stopped the carriage and got out. Who was 
that woman you were speakin' to in the lane ? 
Now, I 'll tell you what I want. I want to see 
John Herbert's pictures. People are always 
askin' me what I think of them, now he is 
down here, you know, and it is nice to be 
able to say I have seen them. Yes. You 
272 


RUMOURS 


can take me in, can’t you ? You know him 
so well.” 

“ I ’m afraid I can’t, to-day,” said Marian’s 
voice. “ He is not here.” 

‘‘Well, my dear, the pictures are, if he is 
not,” returned the determined lady. “ I don’t 
see but what it is the best time to go. You 
don’t have to say anything but what you really 
think, you know.” 

“ This is too much,” cried Julia. “ Can’t I 
— not hide, exactly — but efface myself for a 
few minutes until they have gone ? Can’t I go 
in there ? She indicated a little cupboard of a 
room on the right, where she had changed her 
dress when she first came in. “ If Mrs. 
Cacklethorpe sees me, all Meadowford will 
ring with the news to-morrow ! ” 

“ The devil fly away with her ! ” exclaimed 
Mr. Herbert, taking the portrait off the easel. 
“ I will do my best. Perhaps they won’t stay 
long. Confound it all, why did this happen 
to-day ? ” 

Julia disappeared, and the door had hardly 
shut upon her when Mrs. Cacklethorpe and 
Mrs. Dexterous entered the room, followed by 
the protesting Mrs. Minching, whose very cap- 
18 273 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


strings stood out with horror at this intrusion 
on her master’s privacy. 

“ Why, we thought you were out, Mr. 
Herbert,” said Mrs. Cacklethorpe. “ Did n’t 
you say he was out, Mrs. Dexterous ? Yes. 
Well, I hope you don’t mind our lookin’ about 
a little. I am so anxious to see your pictures, 
you know. You celebrated men can’t hope to 
escape notice.” 

“So it seems, Mrs. Cacklethorpe,” answered 
the artist, with grim politeness. “It is 
almost embarrassing at times. Yes, I told 
Mrs. Dexterous that I might be going to town 
to-day, but I changed my mind, and set to work 
to finish a picture. If you feel in a criticising 
mood you might tell me what you think of it.” 

He placed a very much smudged oil study 
of a full moon, some clouds, and a dismal pond 
upside down on the easel, and watched the 
lady’s face as she surveyed it. He had tried 
in vain to exchange glances with Marian ; she 
steadily avoided looking in his direction, and 
wandered about the room in a way that made 
him exceedingly uneasy. 

“ Now, do you call that an especially fine 
thing ? ” asked the bewildered Mrs. Cackle- 
274 


RUMOURS 


thorpe, after trying unsuccessfully to make out 
the subject of the painting before her. “ One 
of your best, I mean ? It does not seem quite 
clear 

‘‘No,’* said Mr. Herbert, gravely, turning 
it right side up, “ it is not very clear. There ’s 
a storm coming up in the right-hand corner. 
You can see it better, perhaps, this way. No, 
it is not one of my best, though it is very fine.” 
He searched among his canvases and placed 
three or four more finished studies before her. 
“ Those are about all I have to show, I am 
afraid,” he said. “ I have not been working 
much lately.” 

“ Do you sit in a carved chair, mounted on 
— what are they ? — boxes ^ when you paint ? ” 
inquired Marian, suddenly addressing him. 

“No, but — er — Mrs. Minching does 
when she — when she criticises things for me,” 
he returned, with desperate presence of mind. 
“ She is a very good critic, is Mrs. Minching. 
She sits there mending, you know, and telling 
me what is wrong, for hours at a time.” 

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Dexterous. “ I should 
like to see you both at work. Won’t you call 
her in and give us an exhibition ? ” 

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I am afraid she is getting — er — her after- 
noon tea or something, now,” he answered, 
congratulating himself on his cleverness. But 
the effect was unexpected. 

“Tea!” cried Mrs. Cacklethorpe, settling 
herself in a chair and throwing back her rich 
silk mantle. “ Why, I declare, you are enter- 
tainin’ us handsomely I I had meant to go 
down the road to the Brambles’ — Mrs. 
Bramble is in trouble with that new house- 
keeper, my dear. She says she can’t stay. Do 
you know what is the matter ? They said she 
asked to speak to you the last time you were 
there ; about another place, I suppose. You 
knew her when she was with the Donaldsons 
in Paris, didn’t you? Well, I can go later. 
It will be so cozy to have tea here and a nice 
little gossip about our neighbours. By the 
way, how are our Donaldsons ? And the 
heiress, have you seen her lately, Mr. Herbert ? 
or is it ‘ on ’ with the ‘ other man ’ ? ” 

“ She — er — I have not been to the house 
for a day or two. I think she is — is confined 
to her room with a — oh, an attack of some- 
thing or other,” he returned, looking nervously 
at the door of the little room. “If you will 
276 


acdftst 


RUMOURS 

stay to tea, Mrs. Cacklethorpe, I shall go and 
hurry my housekeeper ; but would n’t you 
rather have it in the dining-room ? You have 
not seen my dining-room.” 

“ Why, I think we do very well here. Yes. 
What do you say, Mrs. Dexterous? I don’t 
remember ever havin’ tea in a studio before. 
Bohemian, you know. Have you any more 
pictures to show us, Mr. Herbert ? What do 
you consider your best paintin’s ? People ask 
me, you know, and I like to be able to say.” 

Oh, his best are hanging on other people’s 
walls,” said Mrs. Dexterous. “ He has not 
anything to show us here. I think he is a 
tremendous sell, as a gallery. And I don’t 
believe the tea is coming until the exact hour 
when Mrs. Minching has always been ac- 
customed to serve it. Don’t let us wait, Mrs. 
Cacklethorpe.” 

Don’t let me keep you, my dear, if you 
are in a hurry. I rather like sittin’ here ; it 
is a little different, you know, from what one 
does every afternoon,” answered that lady, 
who suspected mischief of some sort and had 
no intention of going until she was satisfied 
as to its extent. 


27.7 


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Marian gave an impatient sigh, and walking 
over to the corner of the room nearest the 
door of Julia’s cupboard, she pretended to 
busy herself with a picture that leaned against 
the wall. John Herbert joined her. 

Do you want to see this,” he asked, mov- 
ing it out for her, or me ? ” 

“ No,” she answered, laughing, ‘‘ I want to 
see Mrs. Cacklethorpe’s back. I came here for 
a particular purpose this afternoon — oh, not to 
see you ; I thought you were away, you know 
— and I am afraid her presence will defeat it.” 

“ Let us hasten the feast, then,” said Mr. 
Herbert, who did not in the least believe her, 
and who could hear Julia’s dress rustle behind 
the door. “ Come and try your powers on 
Mrs. Minching. You do what you please 
with everybody.” 

But before they had crossed the room there 
was a step in the hall, and Maurice Donaldson 
stood in the doorway. 

“Are you having a reception, Herbert?” 
he asked. “ May I come in ? Your door 
stood hospitably ajar. How do you do, Mrs. 
Cacklethorpe ? Mrs. Dexterous, you see your 
very obedient, humble servant. Tell me what 
278 


RUMOURS 


I can do for you,” he added, following her 
as she walked down the room. “ I am here, 
as you requested. By the way, you did not 
expect such an audience, did you ? ” 

“ No,” she said, speaking very low, with 
her eyes fixed on Herbert, who was laughing 
at some story Mrs. Cacklethorpe had begun 
to tell him. I expected to see you here 
alone. When I asked you to meet me I 
thought Mr. Herbert would be away. The 
place was convenient, for many reasons. I am 
afraid, though, that I have brought you here 
for nothing. I can hardly tell you what I 
wish to tell you — I can hardly beg you — ” 
She stopped short. ‘‘ If only we were alone ! ” 
she said. I know you would do anything 
I asked.” 

Though her words were quite inaudible to 
the other occupants of the room they were 
distinct enough to Julia, near whose place of 
concealment she stood. Miss Silverton felt 
absolutely stunned for a moment. The earth 
seemed cut away from beneath her feet. Could 
this really be Maurice — Maurice, who was 
her lover, her property ? She listened intently 
for his next words. 

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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


“ Could n’t we go somewhere else ? ” he 
said. “We must talk ” 

But at that minute there was an outbreak of 
exclamation from Mrs. Cacklethorpe which com- 
pletely overpowered the rest of the sentence. 

“ Look, my dear ! ” she cried, with the 
triumphant note of the trumpet in her voice. 
“We have caught him at last ! ” And she 
pointed to the door, where stood the perplexed 
Lucinda, flushed from her walk and bearing a 
fur boa and a magnificent opera cloak over her 
arm. “Now we know the meaning of the 
chair on the boxes. The woman ‘ hopes her 
young lady is not tired of waitin’.’ He has — 
shall we say a model or a sitter ? — concealed 
about the premises.” 

“It would be better if you said neither, 
Mrs. Cacklethorpe,” said Maurice, who recog- 
nised the maid. “ My fiancee. Miss Silverton, 
was, I know, sitting for her portrait to Mr. 
Herbert at my particular request. There is 
nothing ^o^eonceal about that.” 

“ I had no idea Mr. Herbert painted 
portraits,” said Mrs. Dexterous, with a care- 
fully suggested little sneer. 

“ He has only painted one,” said Julia’s 

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RUMOURS 


voice, quietly, from behind her. “He has 
only painted mine because he loves me, as I 
have sat for him because I love him. Not 
for any other reason than that. Not at the 
request of anybody. I choose to be with him, 
I prefer him to any man in the world, and 
when I hold out my hand to him, as I do now, 
my heart is in it, for him to take or leave.” 

She was shaking all over with suppressed 
passion. Her eyes were blazing, her cheeks 
scarlet. She held her head up proudly, and 
her heavy bronze-coloured dress fell about her 
like a royal robe. She stood all alone, with 
her back to the room out of which she had 
come, and they stood opposite in a group, 
looking at her. 

“ For him to take or leave,” she repeated, 
holding out her hand. 

And John Herbert stepped forward and 
kissed it. 


IV 

The sudden pang with which one awakes to 
consciousness and a sense of loss at the same 
instant was felt by Julia many times during 
the night which followed the scene in the studio, 
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The gradual disappearance of the other actors, 
the parting between herself and Herbert, the 
hasty explanations to Constance and subsequent 
departure for town, her arrival at her own 
house and the surprised questions of her old 
governess, were all like the different phases 
of a bad dream. 

Her room seemed unfamiliar. The chairs 
and tables and pictures had a new expression 
because she looked at them with new eyes. 
It seemed as if the whole world had changed 
in the last few hours, as if it had somehow 
rolled away from beneath her feet and left her 
floating in space, alone and stunned, but with 
a curious, excited discomfort about her heart 
that would be pain by-and-by as she began to 
realise what had happened. 

She ordered supper and could not eat it. 
She went to bed and could not sleep. For 
hours she lay looking into the darkness and 
going over and over the events of the after- 
noon. At last she could stand it no longer, 
and lighting a candle, found herself some 
trional and took a dose that induced half a 
night of semi-conscious repose broken by 
sudden awakenings. 


282 


RUMOURS 


It is not very amusing to wrench one’s heart 
out of the keeping of an unworthy lover and 
bestow it, bruised and bleeding, on another 
man, however ready that man is to receive 
it. And, after all, was he so ready ? Julia 
had not doubted that he was about to avow 
his love for her when the appearance of 
Marian Dexterous interrupted him, but she 
thought she had detected a certain reserve in 
his expressions after he and she were left 
alone. 

Still, Maurice was punished. That was the 
main point. It did not matter who was 
pleased. Of course, he could never have loved 
her, but at least his pride must have been 
wounded, his vanity hurt, by her open repu- 
diation of him and her acknowledged prefer- 
ence for John Herbert. It was well done, — 
here her eyes flashed and sparkled as they had 
in the studio, — and she was glad of it ; and 
here she buried her face in the pillow and 
cried heartily. 

It was yet quite early in the morning. The 
light in the room was dim, the noises in the 
street were distinct but intermittent. Would 
it never be time to get up ? She was so tired 
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of lying there, thinking and feeling. There 
was no rest but in action, yet what was there 
to do ? She supposed Mr. Herbert would 
come to see her sometime during the day. 
How Meadowford would ring with the news 
of their engagement and its cause ! She could 
hear Mrs. Cacklethorpe saying, ‘‘Yes, my 
dear, I was there. So fortunate, for otherwise 
I could n’t tell you about it. Well, Herbert 
has got the heiress — absolutely threw herself 
at his head, you know, and he could n*t refuse. 
She is just crazy about him, my dear. They 
say he proposed before and she would not 
have him. I don't believe it. She would 
have stuck to it fast enough if he had. Well, 
Maurice Donaldson is well rid of her ; that 's 
what I say.” 

And, indeed, this was very much what Mrs. 
Cacklethorpe did say when she reached the 
Brambles’ that day, with her feathers waving in 
the wind and her tongue wagging at both ends. 
Such a piece of gossip had not been hers to 
disseminate for years. 

Julia wondered what Gilbert would think of 
it all when Constance told him. She liked 
Gilbert. She wished she had seen him to say 
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good-bye. She wondered what had become 
of Maurice when he left the studio, whether he 
had been relieved to find her gone when he 
returned to the house. He could hardly have 
had the audacity to spend the evening with 
Mrs. Dexterous, she supposed. Not that it 
was anything to her if he had. Only, when 
one has loved a man — that is, when one has 
been engaged to him — one does not like to 
believe him capable of conspicuously bad taste 
over and above the villainy of being in lo — no, 
she could not yet believe he was in love — of 
carrying on an affair with another woman. “ I 
always said that if I were beaten I should throw 
down my cards gracefully and give up the 
game,” thought Julia, “but I never thought I 
shpuld have to do it. Oh, will it never be 
time to get up ? ” 

She heard the postman whistle at eight 
o'clock, and made up her mind that if there 
were a letter from Maurice she would not open 
it. He could make no explanation that would 
in the least excuse his conduct. But he might 
have attempted one, she thought later, when 
her maid brought her in her breakfast tray and 
she beheld nothing more interesting in the way 
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of letters than an elaborate advertisement of 
Obesity Soap. 

“ I don't need to be much thinner/’ thought 
Julia, pathetically, looking at her slender hand 
as she poured out her tea. And she pictured 
herself dying of rapid consumption, with John 
Herbert and Maurice in heart-broken attend- 
ance. It seemed a very fitting outcome of the 
situation. 

Two cups of tea and several pieces of toast 
made her less pathetic and more indignant. 
She had worked herself up into quite a respect- 
able rage by the time she was dressed. That 
she should have been in love with a man like 
that ! That she should have been fretting — 
she supposed she had been fretting — all night 
long because she had been fortunate enough to 
discover in time what a contemptible person he 
was! It was absurd. 

She wondered if he would try to see her — 
to argue with her. She would not see him, of 
course. And then she rang the bell and gave 
orders that she was at home to nobody but Mr. 
Herbert — unless someone asked for her very 
particularly. This being satisfactorily attended 
to, there was nothing to be done but get through 
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RUMOURS 


the day as well as she could. She would not 
go out because — because she might meet 
Maurice in the street (which, being interpreted, 
meant missing him at the house), so she sat 
down to read, and got up to wander restlessly 
about the room, went up stairs to talk to her 
bewildered governess, and down stairs to give 
orders to the cook, who was an old family 
servant and had known her since her baby- 
hood. At last she went into the drawing-room 
and tried, with the perfectly impossible set of 
writing materials she kept there, to write a letter 
to Constance. 

At twelve o’clock a hansom drove up to the 
door and the bell rang. Julia s heart flew to 
her throat and then fell to her feet. She 
sprang up, but an attentive servant had already 
opened the door, and she could not make her 
escape through the hall. She retreated to the 
curtains which divided the front from the 
middle room. 

‘‘ Is Miss Silverton at home ? ” Maurice’s 
voice inquired. I wish particularly to see 
her.” 

“ I am not sure, sir. I will see. What 
name shall I say ? ” returned the discreet par- 
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lour-maid, who did not know Mr. Donaldson. 
She pushed open the door for him as she spoke 
and ran up stairs with the card he had given 
her. 

Maurice walked toward the window and 
stood looking out. 

Julia, who might easily have slipped through 
the curtains if she had desired to do so, took a 
step forward instead, her flounced skirt rustling 
on the parquet floor. She told herself that it 
would be cowardly to avoid the interview. 

‘‘ I am here,’’ she said, “ but I don’t know 
what you can possibly have to say to me.” 

Maurice turned at the sound of her voice 
and approached her. 

I have a great deal to say to you,” he 
answered gravely, ‘‘but not yet. First, I 
should like to hear some explanation of your 
extraordinary conduct.” 

“ Of my extraor — of my conduct ? ” stam- 
mered Julia. “ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, it is not usual for a lady who is en- 
gaged to one man to retract her word as pub- 
licly and insultingly as possible and give it to 
another under circumstances that are at least 
questionable.” 


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“ And it is not fitting that a man, if he is en- 
gaged to a woman whom he pretends to love, 
should make clandestine appointments with 
another woman, whose affection for him is as 
evident as his for her/’ 

‘‘There you speak no more than the truth,” 
said Maurice. “ My affection for her is just 
as evident as hers for me.” 

“And for me, I suppose, it never existed ? ” 
cried Julia, tauntingly. 

“That I do not admit for a moment. I 
have loved you almost from the first time I 
saw you, and in the bottom of your heart you 
know it, whatever you choose to think.” 

“ You took a curious way of showing it. 
You must remember that I heard what Mrs. 
Dexterous and you were saying, and you can- 
not explain it away. Oh, when I think how 

I trusted you ! how fond I was of you ! ” 

“ Ton took rather a curious way of showing 
that. You find me in a somewhat equivocal 
position, and judge me without a moment’s 
hesitation, asking for no explanation, willing to 
throw over the whole future happiness of our 
lives for one moment of revenge. I could not 
have treated you so.” 

19 



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‘‘If you have any excuse to offer I will 
listen,” said Julia, tentatively. 

He laughed. “You are inimitable!” he 
exclaimed. “ You overhear a few words you 
cannot understand, you renounce me with a 
flourish of trumpets, and now you say you will 
listen to my excuses. It is a little late, Julia.” 

“ A little late to offer them — I quite agree 
with you,” she answered. 

“To a lady who has given me no earlier 
opportunity ? ” He stood looking down at 
her half-humorously and half-sadly. “ But, 
as a matter of fact, I have no excuses to make,” 
he added. 

“So I imagined. The indefensible position 
you were in ” 

“And what were you in ? ” he asked, sup- 
pressing a smile. 

The obviously truthful answer was, “In the 
cupboard,” but this did not suggest itself to 
Julia. 

“As you yourself testified, I had been sitting 
for my portrait,” she said coldly. 

“ With my knowledge and approval — in- 
deed, at my particular request, as I also 
testified.” 


290 




RUMOURS 


You were so kind as to say so, but it was 
not necessary for you to defend me.” 

I am afraid you are not the best judge of 
that.” 

‘‘Suppose we do not discuss it any more,” 
said Julia. “We will say that I chose, for my 
own reasons, to break my engagement with 
you and to marry Mr. Herbert. I am ac- 
countable to nobody but myself for my 
conduct.” 

Maurice laughed again. “ Then I will ap- 
peal to you against yourself. From Philip 
dr — I mean from Julia’s pride to Julia’s sense 
of justice. Remarking, by the way, that our 
engagement is not broken, and that you will 
never marry Herbert if you live a thousand 
years.” 

“ Shall I not? ” cried Julia, greatly incensed. 
“ We shall see ! ” 

“ If we live long enough,” agreed Maurice. 
“ Suppose we sit down. I have a great deal 
to say to you, and I don’t want to tire you 
more than I can help.” 

Julia subsided into a corner of the sofa, 
looking very mutinous, and he drew up a 
chair opposite. 


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I suppose it sounds absurd to say that my 
poor old father is really the cause of all this 
trouble, but it is true. You remember, per- 
haps, coming into the room one day when 
Gilbert was reading a letter from him, announc- 
ing his sudden arrival ‘ on private and par- 
ticular business ’ ? ” 

Julia nodded, and Maurice moved a little 
nearer. 

Later we had a letter from my sister, tell- 
ing us that she had reason to believe he 
was infatuated with Marian Dexterous, whom 
he had seen in Paris last Spring, and that he 
was coming over with the intention of marry- 
ing her if she would have him. While the 
thing was perfectly preposterous and unsuitable, 
it was by no means impossible. We were 
quite powerless to stop it if he chose to per- 
sist, but we wished to keep it quiet until 
the matter was settled beyond a doubt. You 
can see that Mrs. Dexterous and her pro- 
ceedings became of more and more interest 
to us.*' 

So much so that you began to make love 
to her on your own account.'* 

“ No," said Maurice, smiling, I should 
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RUMOURS 

hardly say I made love to her, and I do not 
think she is under any such impression.” 

“ Yet you have secret meetings with her at 
Mr. Herbert's studio.” 

“ There was not much secrecy about that 
meeting, as it turned out, and I am hanged if 
I know yet what she would have said to me 
if we had been alone. As far as Gilbert and I 
could tell from her note, she wanted to consult 
me about something connected with my father’s 
arrival and a ‘ most unhappy and penitent 
woman,’ whom we took to be herself. But 
why she selected Herbert’s studio for the con- 
fession, and for what reason she is a most un- 
happy and penitent woman — unless she has 
brought my respected father over here on false 
pretences, and is ashamed of herself, which I 
more than suspect is the case — I know no 
more than you do. I left the house directly 
after you made your announcement, and I 
have not seen or heard from her since.” 

Julia covered her perplexed eyes with her 
hand and sat perfectly still. 

You see,” continued Maurice, I offer no 
excuses. I make a simple explanation of the 
facts. But I appeal to my Julia, against the 
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imperious lady who renounced me yesterday, 
to tell whether she does not think some ex- 
cuses are due me. No answer ? Is our en- 
gagement broken, Julia 

He pushed away the chair and took his 
place beside her on the sofa. 

“ Don't you think you might have trusted 
me, my sweetheart ? After all, you know I 
am at least a ” 

‘‘ Oh, never mind what you are ! ” cried 
Miss Silverton, throwing herself into his arms. 

I am the most graceless baggage in the world, 
and deserve to be beaten. Only — only — 
I " 

‘‘You hope I won't beat you. Your con- 
fidence is not misplaced," said Maurice, kiss- 
ing her hair, as her face was hidden against his 
shoulder. 

“ That was not at all what I meant," she 
declared, sitting up indignantly. “ I was going 
to say that you must admit I had some reason 
for thinking as I did." 

“ And for behaving as you did, also." 

“ No, no," murmured Miss Silverton, re- 
turning hastily to her former position. “ I 
am afraid that was — was ill-judged. I was so 
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angry, you see. I am so unaccustomed to lose 
control of myself, I hardly knew what I was 
going to do till I had done it.’* 

“ You did it with a vengeance,” said Mau- 
rice, laughing. “ Mrs. Cacklethorpe will never 
forget it to her dying day. And I think Mrs. 
Dexterous was rather taken aback. It hit her 
pretty hard, you see.” 

“Mrs. Dexterous! Why?” cried Julia, 
sitting upright again. 

“Well, I fancy she is rather in love with 
Herbert, herself,” returned Mr. Donaldson, 
carelessly, but watching the effect of his 
words. 

“In love with Mr. Herbert 1 Good 
heavens ! Why, I am engaged to Mr. Her- 
bert at the present minute 1 I forgot all about 
it 1 What am I to do, Maurice? Oh, what 
an awful tangle everything is in ! And there 
seems to be no decent way out of it but for 
me to marry him.” 

“ Oh, I would n’t go quite so far as that. 
Suppose you see him and explain to him ” 

“ That I was just using him as a means of 
punishing you, because I was — was jealous 
of you,” said Julia, ruefully, “ while all the time 

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I really loved you dearly. It does not seem 
easy to say, does it ? 

“Not very/* admitted Maurice, keeping 
back a smile. 

“ Because he really is very fond of me, and 
it was not his fault at all.” 

“ That is true also, and nobody could pos- 
sibly deny his fondness or his lack of fault. 
But I find that just lately he also has yielded 
to the fascinations of our wonderful widow, 
and is, somewhat to his own surprise, head 
over ears in love with her. Quite mad about 
her.” 

“ He is ? Are you sure ? Then that must 
have been what he was going to tell me about 
when he spoke of his ‘ heart secrets,* and I 
imagined — But how did you find it out ** 

“ He told me himself.** 

“He did?** cried Julia. “How mortify- 
ing! And what a relief! What a sensible 
man he is not to like me ! ** 

“He would have been very far from a 
sensible man if he had avowed any great pre- 
ference for you after I began to talk to him.** 

“ When did you see him ? ** 

“ I waited until he was alone in the studio 
296 


RUMOURS 


and went back there directly. I told him that, 
under some misapprehension, you had been 
transferring property that did not belong to 
you, and anybody attempting to accept the 
same would be held responsible for a mis- 
demeanour. In fact, I rather threatened to 
have his life-blood if he thought of holding 
you to anything you had said, even after giving 
you due time for reflection. And he, like the 
man of the world he is, instead of quarrelling 
with me, showed me at once that he under- 
stood what had happened and why it had 
happened. He told me of his extreme admira- 
tion and affection for you, disclaimed any idea 
of holding you to your word, — it was here 
that I surprised his confidence about Mrs. 
Dexterous, — but added that he should con- 
sider himself at your disposition until he heard 
from you that your engagement to me was 
still agreeable to you.” 

“ Is n't he a dear ? ” said Julia. ‘‘ So sensi- 
ble ! You can tell at once he has been a great 
deal with women all his life. And do you 
wonder that, next to you ” 

“ No, indeed, I only wonder you did not 
take him long ago ; but he can't have another 
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UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


chance. It is too late now. As I said a short 
time ago, you shall never marry him if you 
live a thousand years.” 

“ You said ‘ will ’ before, you know.” 

‘‘Is our engagement broken, Julia? No? 
Then I shall say what I please, and dictate to 
you as much as I like. You promised to let 
me manage you, and then you publicly defied 
me! Now, I am going to be despotic in 
private life, I warn you, and intimidate you 
with threats if you don't do what I say.” 

“ While the fit is on you, would you mind 
dictating what I shall say to Mr. Herbert ? ” 
said Julia, rising and going to the writing table. 

“ Far be it from me to interfere in a private 
correspondence of that nature,” returned 
Maurice, collapsing at once. 

Julia laughed. “ I shall just say that he is 
the very nicest man in the world, but, on the 
whole, I find my engagement to you less disa- 
greeable than I expected.” 

“ That will do perfectly,” said Maurice, 
“though your reference to me is perhaps 
unduly flattering.” 

Julia wrote quickly, and in a few minutes 
the letter was signed and addressed. 

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“Is he at Meadowford ? ” she asked, look- 
ing up. ^ ^ ^ 

“ No,*' said Maurice, “ he is at the Knicker- 
bocker Club. We came up together this morn- 
ing. You might send the letter there. He is 
waiting for it.” 

“ Upon my word, you seem to have taken 
things very much for granted.” 

“ My dear little girl,” he answered, “ there 
was only one way out of this particular difficulty, 
but if there had been a hundred, you would 
have taken my way, because you know I love 
you and understand you, and because you are 
beginning to find out that you like me — even 
a little more than you thought. Are n't 
you r 

“ And suppose I had found out that I did 
not like you ? '' 

“ Why, then you should have married me 
just the same, as a fitting punishment for all 
the trouble you have given me.” 

“ Maurice,” said Miss Silverton, solemnly, 
“ did you sleep at all last night ? ” 

“Not unless I slept standing,” he returned, 
with a short laugh. 

“ Well, no more did I, worth mentioning, 
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and I came to the conclusion — sub-consciously, 
you know — that, justly angry as I was with 
you, in some way you must prove yourself 
right, because I loved you. And I think 
that is the difference between men and women ; 
men use their reason to prove their hearts, 
and women use their hearts to disprove their 
reason.” 

“ Luncheon is served,” said the voice of the 
servant at the door. 

“You will stay? ” said Julia. 

“ I hoped you might ask me,” answered 
Maurice, modestly. 

“You might send away your hansom.” 

“ But I must go down to meet the Gascogne 
directly after luncheon. I thought perhaps 
you would come with me. We shall find 
Constance and Gilbert at the dock. It will be 
the least formal way of — Oh, good-morning. 
Miss Boyd. I have been instructing your 
pupil in psychomachy this morning, and it is a 
fatiguing process, as perhaps you have found. 
May I come and refresh exhausted nature in 
your society ? ” 

“ What is psychomachy ? ” whispered Julia, 
as they went into the dining-room. 

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A conflict of the soul with the body,” he 
returned, pulling out her chair for her. 

They had a very merry meal together, in- 
dulging in small jokes and allusions that so 
completely puzzled and confused Miss Boyd 
that she watched them later drive away from 
the door with the same sense of relief as that 
experienced by a nervous pussy-cat when the 
youth of the neighbourhood return to school. 

It was a beautiful Autumn day, with a deep 
blue sky,'’great rolling white clouds, and a fresh 
salt breeze. The streets were filled with car- 
riages, and Julia and Maurice recognised several 
nodding and smiling acquaintances as their 
hansom threaded its way down Fifth Avenue. 
There was the usual confusion about the 
Waldorf-Astoria: omnibuses crawling up-hill, 
with weary horses straining and struggling ; 
omnibuses sliding down-hill, pushing their 
horses ahead of them till the harness threatened 
a disastrous leave-taking ; red cable cars clang- 
ing their way across town, clumsy automobiles 
backing and filling, hansoms dashing out of 
Thirty-third Street and losing themselves in 
the general mass of vehicles going north or 
vehicles going south ; hawkers of over-blown 

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violets and chrysanthemums moving to and 
fro on the sidewalk among the people. 

“What a caravansary it is!” said Julia, 
looking at the huge red pile. “ Who but an 
American would willingly stay in a great, noisy, 
crowded place like that? There is a woman 
who looks exactly like Mrs. Dexterous just 
getting into a hansom 1 I don’t think I shall 
ever care to be thrown much with Mrs. Dex- 
terous after this, Maurice, so I hope she won’t 
marry your father.” 

“ I don’t see why she should,” he answered, 
“ for I am sure she is in love with Herbert and 
he with her. However, there is no account- 
ing for women, and I shall not be easy until 
the dear old gentleman is safely out of the 
country.” 

“You will just let him wait till 'we are 
married, won’t you ? ” asked Julia, after a 
pause. “You suggested it first, you know.” 

“ Darling,” cried Maurice, “ that is the best 
thing you have said yet. If only we were not 
in this confounded 1 ” 

But at this instant the horse was pulled up 
with such a jerk that they nearly found them- 
selves deposited on the pavement, and a tower- 
302 


RUMOURS 


ing policeman, with black hair and red 
mustaches, warned them back with one up- 
lifted hand while he escorted five female 
shoppers, two errand girls, an old woman with 
a pug (who, not satisfied of her safety, even 
under his protection, ran splay-footed ahead of 
him all the way), and a cautious-minded elderly 
clergyman with an umbrella, across Twenty- 
third Street. 

As they began to move forward again, another 
hansom overtook and passed them, and in it 
were seated Mrs. Dexterous and John Herbert. 

He did not lose much time,” said Julia, 
laughing. 

“ Or she did not,” suggested Maurice. “ I 
wonder where the deuce they are going.” 

But it very soon became apparent that the 
destination of the two cabs was the same. 
Sometimes they followed each other ; some- 
times, in friendly rivalry, made a dash for the 
same opening at the same minute, and drove 
along side by side ; sometimes the stream of 
travel divided them, but they never quite lost 
sight of each other through all the turns and 
twistings of the lower Westside streets, and 
they both drew up in triumph at the entrance 

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to the pier of the Compagnie Generale Trans- 
atlantique, with Maurice’s man a trifle in the 
lead. 

Julia hastily descended and hurried into the 
big building. 

It really is embarrassing, you know,” she 
said, over her shoulder, ‘‘ though it is awfully 
funny. I suppose she has come to meet your 
father. But why bring Mr. Herbert.? Are 
they going to ask his blessing here, on the 
dock ? ” 

“ Heaven knows ! It is beyond me. By 
Jove, the vessel is in ; we must be late ! There 
go the gang-planks ; she will be landing her 
passengers directly. I wonder where Gilbert 
and Constance have hidden themselves.” 

But at that instant Gilbert pushed his way 
through the crowd that was gathering at the 
foot of the gang-plank, and joined them. 

“ Constance is over there,” he said. “ Come 
along. Thought you might not get here. I 
pictured you, with a shotgun, sitting outside 
the door of Julia’s house, to keep her in and 
Herbert out. Why, here she is ! This is 
famous ! Then it is all right. I am awfully 
glad, and Constance will be delighted.” 

304 


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All the time he was making his way, with 
some difficulty, back to the place where he had 
left his wife, Julia and Maurice following him. 

Constance was dressed in the most perfect 
of travelling gowns, crowned with a flat hat of 
burnished bird breasts, and stood as calmly 
aloof from the confusion about her as if she 
were a statue of the latest mode left there for 
transportation. She presented a beautiful, soft, 
pink cheek to Julia. 

‘^Well, my dear,” she said, ‘‘it is to be 
Maurice, after all, is it ? I don’t think much 
of your way of ignoring things,” and she laughed 
a little ; “ but never mind, it has all turned out 
for the best. You know I told you that you 
did not really want your own way.” 

“ I am just as well satisfied with the way I 
am going now,” said Julia, with a glance of 
amusement at Maurice, “ as if I had chosen 
it myself.” 

“ And how does Mr. Herbert feel ? ” in- 
quired Constance. 

“ He seems to be contented with his lot,” 
returned Miss Silverton. “ But you might 
ask him yourself. He is here, somewhere, 
with Marian Dexterous.” 

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“ Marian here ! cried Mrs. Donaldson. 
“ No ! Really, she is impossible. Gilbert 
has some cock-and-bull story about his father’s 
wishing to marry her. I should soon put a 
stop to that.” 

‘‘ She is going on board this minute ! ” 
observed Julia. And, indeed, waved onward 
by gold-braided officials, and stemming with 
difficulty the first downpouring of released 
passengers, the fine figure of Mrs. Dexterous 
could be seen making its way up the inclined 
pathway. Gilbert and Maurice, who had 
pressed forward for the same purpose, were 
completely distanced. 

“ Do you suppose she will have the nerve 
to go to his cabin ? ” asked the former of his 
brother, as they finally succeeded in reaching 
the deck of the steamer. 

“ I really could not say what she would not 
have the nerve to do, but I think we had 
better hasten to the rescue.” 

This was, however, more easily said than 
done, and it was several minutes before the 
cabin of Monsieur Donaldson ” could be 
discovered. Moreover, when found it proved 
to be empty ; but on their way back they 
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RUMOURS 


came upon the two people of whom they were 
in search, sitting side by side in earnest con- 
versation in a corner of the saloon. Mr. 
Donaldson was just receiving a packet from 
the hands of the widow. 

“ Do you suppose it is a gift of welcome, or 
his love letters returned ? ** said Gilbert, irrev- 
erently. “ Poor old governor ! Does n’t he 
look surprised ! ” 

And truly the expression on Mr. Donald- 
son’s handsome countenance was one of aston- 
ment, which was rapidly succeeded by relief. 

‘‘ You don’t tell me so ! ” he was saying as 
his sons approached. You don’t tell me 
so ! I am infinitely relieved. I feel as if a 
weight had been taken off my mind. It has 
turned out most fortunately for all parties, and 
I shall be very glad to proceed no farther. I 
feel no desire to be severe, you understand. 
The temptation was doubtless very great.” 

He takes it like a man, does n’t he ? ” 
whispered Gilbert. 

“ I cannot thank you enough, dear Mr. 
Donaldson,” Mrs. Dexterous answered, “ both 
on my own behalf and — I might say, my 
client’s. But it is just what I expected of 

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you. You are the most high-minded, gen- 
erous, chivalrous man in the world, and I feel 
it is a privilege to have known you.” 

‘‘ I say,” said Gilbert, ‘‘ it is time to inter- 
fere. She will have him back again.” 

He coughed loudly as he spoke, and Mrs. 
Dexterous, turning and seeing him, sprang 
up in some confusion. 

‘‘ I am keeping your father from you in the 
most shocking way,” she said. Forgive me, 
Mr. Maurice, — you look the sterner of the 
two, — and I will atone for it by taking myself 
off at once. But you will come to see me, 
please, Mr. Donaldson, won't you? I shall 
be in town for a few days at the Waldorf. 
Thank you so much. I know you will never 
regret what you have done to-day.” 

She looked up, hesitated for an instant, 
then, murmuring that he was an old dear, she 
threw her arms round his neck, gave him a 
hearty kiss, and fled from the saloon before 
any of the three could collect their wits. 

‘‘That is a very extraordinarily fine young 
woman,” said Mr. Donaldson, looking after 
her. He stood with his right hand in Gilbert's 
and his left on Maurice’s shoulder, a tall, 
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soldierly, upright old gentleman, with faded 
blue eyes and curly white hair. “ Owing to 
her tact and kindness I have been saved from 
a very disagreeable duty.” 

He moved away from them and began to 
pace slowly to and fro in a manner habitual 
to him. 

‘‘You — you regarded it in the light of a 
duty^ then ? ” said Gilbert. 

“ Certainly I did. Such things are never 
pleasant,” returned his father. 

“ The discrepancy of age, perhaps — ” began 
Maurice, in some surprise. 

“ What on earth has that got to do with 
it ? ” cried Mr. Donaldson, sharply. 

“ Alice has an idea ” 

“ Oh, then, Alice suspected ? I suppose 
that is how the thing happened to get out 
among you. You discussed it at some time 
when you were overheard by the servants. 
Well, airs well that ends well. I am relieved 
that I do not have to prosecute.” 

“ Prosecute ! ” exclaimed Gilbert. 

“What other course was open to me if I 
wanted to recover what had been stolen ? ” 

“ Stolen ! ” echoed Gilbert. 

309 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 

“ What is the matter with you, Gilbert ? ” 
said his father, impatiently. “ I suppose if 
somebody had managed to abstract ten thou- 
sand dollars* worth of United States coupon 
bonds from your strong-box you would call 
it stealing, would n*t you ? ** 

‘‘And Mrs. Dexterous ** 

“ Mrs. Dexterous brought them back to 
me to-day, with assurances of sincere repent- 
ance. I trust the difficulty of disposing of 
them had nothing to do with it.** 

“Good God!** said Maurice, “there must 
be some mistake. * 

“ It would have been difficult to prove, 
perhaps,** conceded Mr. Donaldson, “ and I 
was most loth to brand any woman as a 
criminal. This confession and the restoration 
of the bonds simplify everything. Of course, 
she must never take another place.** 

“I — I am afraid she has taken one already,*’ 
stammered Gilbert. 

“ Impossible ! Mrs. Dexterous tells me 
that in the interview she had with her, at Mrs. 
Bramble*s, the woman declared her intention 
of leaving the country at once. We must see 
that this is accomplished quietly. I do not 
310 


RUMOURS 


wish to trouble that charming lady further. 
This has been a most disagreeable business 
for her. She tells me that, but for an un- 
fortunate misunderstanding, she would have 
placed the matter in your hands, Maurice, and 
got you to see the woman and receive the 
papers. She has felt the responsibility greatly. 
She says she did not dare come down here 
alone, lest some accident should happen to her 
while she was in the possession of such a trust. 
She brought a friend with her, a Mr. Herbert. 
I must tender my thanks to this gentleman. 
Can it be John Herbert, the artist ? You 
don't tell me so ! I thought 1 noticed in 
Paris — Yes. Well, she is one in a thousand. 
He is a lucky man ! I am greatly grieved 
and disappointed in Mrs. Sykes," concluded 
Mr. Donaldson, shaking his head sadly. 
“ She received many kindnesses from my 
daughter and me while she was in our service. 
I thought her an admirable housekeeper and 
a most excellent woman." 

Maurice's hand had actually to force back 
the words upon his brother's lips. 

“It has been a very distressing thing to 
you, I can see, sir," he said. “We sympa- 
311 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


thise entirely with your feelings in the matter, 
and I suppose the less said about it the better, 
as it has ended so quietly. Now, let us get 
you off this vessel. Constance and Julia will 
think you are lost.” 

‘‘Bless my soul!” cried his- father, “are 
they here ? Let us go at once. Why did n*t 
you tell me ? My man is looking after the 
baggage, so we may leave without delay. I 
would not have had those delicate young 
women standing about this draughty dock on 
my account for the world. And my new 
daughter-in-law, too 1 Maurice, I feel this as 
a very pretty compliment. Take me to them 
at once. Dear, dear I ” said the kindly old 
gentleman, hurrying his sons along, “ I have 
unwittingly been guilty of conduct most ab- 
horrent to my sense of courtesy,” and in a 
perfect tumult of outraged politeness he swept 
them off the ship. 

“ Your father is an old dear,” said Julia to 
Maurice, as they drove home together. “He 
treats me as if I were a sort of a goddess 
who had condescended to marry the son of a 
mortal.” 

“A very proper way to treat you. Mrs. 

312 


RUMOURS 


Dexterous also says he is an ‘ old dear/ and 
she kissed him, which you did not/' 

‘‘ She is a brazen minx, which I am 
not.” 

She is not so brazen as your Majesty thinks. 
She is an extraordinarily fine young woman, as 
my father called her. If it had not been for 
you and your dear little face and your torment- 
ing ways I think I could have — Julia! Do 
you know that hurt ? ” 

Never mind,” said Julia, petulantly, and 
quoted from ‘‘ Undine : ” “ Mf I had not bitten 
your finger, who knows what fine things you 
would have put into your story about 
Bertalda ” 

Maurice laughed. “ There is nobody like 
you, after all, my sweet,” he said, nobody in 
all the world ; but we really have mistaken 
Mrs. Dexterous among us.” And he told her 
what had taken place that afternoon. “ So you 
see,” he concluded, “ if Fate had permitted me 
to keep that appointment in secret, I should 
have known all about this business yester- 
day ” 

^‘Yes, but there are some things / should 
not have known. For instance, that one’s love 

313 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


for a person is proved, first, by what one is 
willing to forgive, and then, by what one is 
willing to be forgiven. Maurice, dear ” 

“ If you say another word of that sort to me 
in this cab, Julia, I will not answer for the 
consequences ! 

“ I will wait until we get home, then,” she 
said. Home ! That is a poor name to give 
to a place where you do not live ! Don't you 
wish we were going back to our own house ? ” 

“ William,” said Mr. Puffles, entering the 
pantry, where that worthy young man was 
engaged in cleaning silver, the family is com- 
ing down to-morrow in time for lunch. Mr. 
Maurice's man has just arrived, and he says, 
‘ Put places for seven,' he says, Tor that's the 
number you 'll have. There is old Mr. Don- 
aldson coming to stop,' he says, ‘ and Miss 
Silverton for over Sunday, and Mrs. Dexterous 
and Mr. Herbert, that is invited just for the 
meal, and there 's three in the family,' he says, 
‘ and that makes seven.’ Which it do, William, 
as nobody can deny. But what I say is, what 
did you mean when you told me only this very 
morning — told me with your identical mouth, 
314 


RUMOURS 


William — that it were all over between her 
and Mr. Maurice ? 

I telled you what was told to me, Mr. 
Puffles,” replied William, with dignity. “ A 
man can do no more. One of the grooms had 
it from Mrs. Cacklethorpe’s own coachman, 
which I ask no better authority. He heard as 
how there ’d been a big flare-up. ‘ Everything 
kicked to pieces,' he says, ‘ and the young lady 
bolted to^town without a bridle. And his old 
woman,' he says, meaning Mrs. C. — which I 
don’t approve his languidge, him not being 
long in the place — ‘ telling the thing high and 
low, till not a gentleman among them,' he says, 
‘ but would be afraid to drive her.' What 's 
the matter ? " he added, seeing the respected 
countenance of his chief purple with laughter. 

Why, it is a bit of a joke, William,” said 
Mr. Puflles, wiping his eyes ; a very hum- 
orous saying you have just made. ‘ She 
bolted to town without a bridle,' says you, and 
so Miss Silverton did go off to town without 
marrying Mr. Maurice. You did not see it, 
my lad, but I have waited on table for so many 
years that maybe I am quicker than some to 
see a thing like that, quicker than some. For 

315 


UNCONSCIOUS COMEDIANS 


it trains a man’s mind as well as his legs to 
wait on the quality, William. They have no 
patience. What they wants they wants quick, 
and what they says they says quick, and they 
don’t mind what they says about each other, 
neither. The trouble with the quality, in most 
places, is — ’’and here Mr. Puffles looked 
owlish with wisdom — that they ’ve got no 
regular work to do, and so they have time to 
gossip. That ’s the mischief of it ! ” 

“ But if they did the work,” observed the 
footman, with the air of one making a point, 
‘‘ what the mischief would we do ? ” 

You are a well-meaning lad, William,” said 
the butler, “ though ignorant in ways I will not 
weary you by repeating, so that you don’t 
always understand the turn of my thoughts. 
But this I ’ll say to you, that the less you talk 
and the more you listen and work, the better it 
will be for you. It ’s my belief, William, that 
there is far less harm done in the world by 
what people do than by what they say they do, 
or other people say they ’ve done. You mark 
my words. Gossip is a bad thing ; and that 
reminds me that Mr. Maurice’s man says that 
Mr. Maurice is going to marry Miss Silverton 
316 


RUMOURS 


next month ; he had it direct from her maid. 
And he do say that a happier couple you never 
laid your eyes on. Now it seems but right to 
me that we should drink their healths at supper 
to-night, and I ’ll stand treat, William,” said 
Puffles, swelling with pride, “ in a choice bottle 
I had put by for myself. There is a rumour,” 
he continued, looking abnormally sly, “ that 
Mr. Herbert and Mrs. Dexterous is going to 
do likewise, and that being the case, young man, 
I think I ’ll stand two bottles. It ’s none too 
much, William, it ’s none too much.” 


317 


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